Madness Combat: Final Salvation (Rewrite)
by Spirit9871
Summary: A rewrite of the original Final Salvation fanfic that started it all! Includes the first twenty-five chapters of the original fanfic, rewritten! [Beta-Readers and Co-Authors: Sacrom, Bravo, ieatdragonz, & Alias-Maxima] Cover art by Kyuri 08. Be mindful of spoilers in your reviews, please!
1. Aftermath

Chapter 1: Aftermath

* * *

The Auditor is no more.

The Agency Against Hank Wimbleton, once a mighty titan, was reduced to shattered remnants. Three fighting legends, Hank, Sanford, and Deimos, had finally won the battle for freedom from the dictatorship of The Auditor; a godlike, evil entity that had threatened not only the citizens of Nevada but all of humanity.

With all three Improbability Drives destroyed, things were finally back to normal. The sky was silvery gray and the sun was shining bright, a sight that they fought with their lives for.

Hank, the strongest of the three, had died more than eight times and was resurrected again and again by supernatural forces, against his will. He was returned from his monster-like state into a relatively human form, courtesy of experimental Antithesis and stolen AAHW medical advances. For reasons unknown to anyone else, Hank decided to keep and constantly wear his infiltration outfit.

Sanford had survived the slaughter without meeting death once. Per request, he was given a new hook as an exact replica of his previous one, as well as a brand new sedan.

Deimos, however, was killed at the climax of the entire struggle but was revived by their god-like leaders, the "Higher Powers" after the war had ended. According to the deities, and unbeknownst to most other Antithesis personnel, Deimos would be the last revival made for the sake of "preserving natural order." Deimos received a custom-made MG42 light machine gun (the "Man Grinder 42" as the hacker himself liked to call it).

They were given a home with no need to seek work; the compensation funds they received from Antithesis supported them like fat kings for the rest of their lives. It was a two-story mansion set nearby one of the many reviving Nevadan cities, yet isolated by dense forestation that exploded from the ground after decades of suppression by the Improbability Drives.

But most importantly, it meant a fresh start in Nevada that was previously denied to them by the war that crippled the nation and the people who lived in it. To them, that was the most important part of the gift; of being able to wash off the blood that blemished more than just their clothes. Except, there was one problem.

The stains wouldn't come off.

The trio wasn't seen with any sort of hero status. To others, they were seen as demons that thrived in the joyous slaughters of AAHW men. Many soldiers that were forced against their will to fight for The Auditors. Many of which, were survived by friends, families, and lovers that prayed desperately for their safe return to seemingly deaf gods.

Dissenter be damned.

Hatred is a powerful force; one that not even The Higher Powers could mend. By no means is it invincible, yet what would _Redemption_ entail? What would it take to reach _Salvation_?

It's the cusp of destiny; the balance of society teeters and, once again, up to the three men to pave their paths to their own futures.

* * *

 ** _Starting Credits:_**

Cover by Kyuri_08 (Kyuri Wang)

Story by: Spirit9871, Sacrom, Alias-Maxima, Bravo, and ieatdragonz

Extra OC's: by Spirit9871

* * *

A/N: Happy Madness Day, ladies and gentlemen! Originally, my team and I were thinking about uploading Final Salvation in its full 37-chapter glory after the entire thing's been rewritten, but we've decided to give you guys a little taste of what we've been cooking up all this time on the sidelines with a preview of the first five chapters!

Soooo, here we are guys; _Final Salvation_ _ **Version 2.0.**_ It relieves me that we're coming back here to clean things up; the original was honestly a huge mess now that I look back at it.

So what's going on now? Well, after we reached the end of the second season of Hank's Legacy, we're setting that to the side for now to improve on Final Salvation and even Never Forget. Does that also mean Hank's Legacy will be fixed? In fact, yes. A lot of repairs are necessary; repairs that we've long tried to keep in the back of our minds.

Now, you might say: "Wait a minute, Spirit! What if I liked the original version? Is it lost forever?"

Don't fret; we have that planned out as well. Though the original version would have to be revised over with these new chapters (due to the site's rules on no duplicates of stories), _**on my profile I will make a download link available for the first, original 2012 version once the full version of the rewrite has been uploaded. Three download links will be available in case if the first two fail.**_

Be warned though; it's not pretty. We take no responsibility if you choose to bleach out your eyes after reading the old monstrosity.

(Or, you know, you could just read it and laugh at my pain.)

...Anyways, rather than have credits and all that (since that's already in the original) we're doing something different for these edited stories called: "Changelogs." These logs are just here to show you that we actually did something with the story as well as point out some changes to what may have been signature moments. It will be there for every chapter so bear with us.

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ :

1 - More description added.

2 - Grammatical errors removed.

3 - Narration and dialogue improved.

4 - Diction enhanced.

5 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

See? Quick and painless, like a booster-shot.

The original plot will not change for those of you veteran readers who are wondering. Perhaps some character personalities and such will so that it doesn't seem like just one person speaking with different names, but other than that, the basic idea is still there. Events will still follow the same timeline though the execution will be different. **Again, if the original story has been removed from this site, go for the download link on my profile if you want to compare what's different and same; the Changelogs are there to help you as well.**

Author's Notes also won't be that long after the first group of chapters unless there's something important to mention.

So yeah, that's pretty much it! Special thanks to MCG, Sacrom, and Alias-Maxima for helping me out with these fixes; I'm sure the final version will look great with their aid.

Hopefully, those of you who were with me for the original will enjoy the new changes and for those of you who are new to this, welcome to my first ever story! We did all this for you, so we hope it'll be worth it in the end.

(Veterans, please avoid spoilers in the review section. Really guys, don't ruin the experience for other people.)

Happy reading. :)

~Spirit


	2. Murder is Murder

Chapter 2: Murder is Murder

* * *

Deimos's eyes snapped open and he sat up gasping, drowning in the cold, evening air. He had a gun in his hand. The safety had been flicked off.

"Damn."

Deimos clicked the safety on and stashed the pistol in its rightful place: under his pillow. Yawning, he turned his gaze towards the clock on the table beside him.

 _4:30 AM._

Why did he even bother checking anymore?

Sanford and Hank were probably still..."sleeping." But he knew that even the slightest sound would wake them instantly. He padded his way down the hallway to the kitchen and reached for the coffee can...

"Why the fuck am I making coffee in the middle of the god fucking damned night?" Deimos asked himself.

So he redirected his hand, choosing to instead pop open the fridge, taking great care not to make a sound. His pale hand emerged, grasping a can of beer. He sat down at the side of the table and leaned back on the wooden chair.

Deimos sighed. Damn adrenaline rushes.

He removed the razor-sharp knife that he always kept taped under the table and used it to carefully cut a hole in the top of the can, emphasizing silence over quickness...but the keen blade slipped, and punctured the side of the can. Beer bubbled from the opening onto his greyshirt.

"Goddamnit!" he growled in frustration. The lack of sleep was taking a toll on him.

Deimos ruefully recollected the days of the Nevadan War. In those harrowing days, his reflex was sharp. he would dodge bullets aimed right for him. Now, he couldn't react fast enough to avoid spilling a can of beer all over himself.

Grabbing a towel, he mopped the alcohol off the floor and dabbed at the newly-formed stain. Greyshirts were becoming increasingly expensive these days.

"Deimos… what are you doing?"

Deimos immediately stood, tensed, knife ready to throw...but then he saw who had just addressed him.

"...it's a quarter to five, A the fuck M. Why the hell are you up so damn early?"

 _Sanford_.

Deimos sighed and lowered his knife. "Sorry. Couldn't get any shut-eye."

Sanford walked towards the table, situating himself across from Deimos. "One of _those_ nights again."

"Yeah. Swear to god, I'm losing it man. I shit you not, I was nearly thinking about drinking a cup of coffee."

"Great idea. Might as well keep us awake for _another_ 24 hours with you in the kitchen."

"Yeah, yeah. There's more beer in the fridge, by the way. Felt like reminding you, since I know how much you enjoy getting wasted and all."

"Fuck you. I keep this place in check you know, cause nobody else here apparently wants to. Toss me one."

Deimos opened up the fridge and grabbed another can. He tossed the other to Sanford, who deftly snatched it out of the air. Sanford opened the top and the two brought their cans to their mouths in unison, both taking one large gulp before "ahh"'ing in bliss.

Sanford checked the brand and whistled in approval. "Nevalcohol! Damned good stuff."

"Dunno if it's worth the price, though."

"And your cigarettes are any cheaper?"

"Better smoking than being too drunk to fight!"

Sanford rolled his eyes, taking another swig of his can. After several minutes of silence, Deimos spoke.

"San?"

"Yeah?"

"How long has it been?"

"Since what?"

"Since we killed The Auditor and sorta saved humanity." Deimos replied, as if his previous statement was no big deal. He absentmindedly picked up the knife beside him and twirled it. The knife became an orange, glittering arc in the rosy glow of dawn.

More silence. Sanford did the calculations in his head. He stared down at his beer in contemplation.

"Three and a half years? Hell, maybe even four? I dunno, ask Hank."

"And every living cunt in this shithole still hates our guts." Deimos muttered. The knife _thunked_ down into the table.

Sanford turned away and looked out of a window to the city. The fiery sun was rising just above the skyscrapers. Soon, the clouds would arrive, and the overcast would cover the skies a silvery gray.

The skies were always gray… but gray was better than red.

"How can you blame them?" Sanford answered with another question, "Losing someone just... isn't something you can just shrug off. And three years sure as hell doesn't cut it."

"I guess, but..." Deimos's voice grew louder. "We had our orders, and so did they. And for all those years, each Agent was, well… just another soldier. Like us, right? They knew the risks."

"Maybe, maybe. We had a choice, and they didn't. But still, we killed them all and didn't look back. Murder is murder."

"So… who's wrong? Us or them?"

"Nobody. Nobody's right. Nobody's wrong. As ironic as it sounds, we killed all those people for the sake of humanity. That's probably the only reason we're not being hunted down by the police right now," Sanford replied.

Deimos slumped back in his chair and took a long draw from his can. "Ungrateful bastards..."

"Be reasonable. If somebody busted a cap in my head, wouldn't you go haywire too?"

Deimos thought long and hard on that statement. A memory of Sanford, shot by an ATP Engineer and spasming in pain, flashed into his head. The pent-up feelings he felt manifested in his voice.

"I'd probably go batshit insane and kill that son of a bitch."

Sanford nodded. "My point exactly. In my case, I _did_ kill 'that son of a bitch'...or Hank did? Eh, close enough."

He took another drag of beer, and set the can on the table. He shook the emptied aluminum.

"Looks like I'm out."

Sanford stood and lumbered over to the fridge, coming back with double handfuls of Nevalcohol cans. Deimos bit his lower lip.

"But… but still! I don't give half a shit about what those pricks think about us! I say we get out of this town, move somewhere else, and start fresh? Maybe New York or California! We could just live life."

Sanford shook his head, dropping the cans on the table in front of him. "People would eventually find out about us anyways. It'll just be the same thing over and over again. Besides, this home was given to us by The Higher Powers. We don't need to pay to live here. We _earned_ this."

Sanford chuckled. "Anyways, California is just a huge desert by now, since all their water was siphoned into Nevada by the Sheriff. And New York's not exactly the prettiest place to go to since, you know, that AAHW nuclear reactor melted down and left a lethal dosage of radiation over half the state."

Deimos looked down at his half-empty can. "Damnit. I keep forgetting. Wasn't just us fighting them, in those... little grey rooms," he whispered.

Sanford put his hand on Deimos' shoulder. "We'll never escape the ravages of war, and Nevada's probably a paradise compared to the rest of the world. Point being, we have each other now, Deimos. Me, you, and Hank. The past is in the past; what we have here is what matters. Right?"

"Yeah… thanks."

"My pleasure."

Deimos smiled weakly. They had fought through Hell together.

Hank didn't have that luxury.

"Mornin'." Deimos said, looking over Sanford's shoulder.

Sanford turned to see Hank standing with his hands in his pockets. Though he still wore his combat mask like always, the duo could sense the bags under their roommate's eyes.

"How long were you awake?" Sanford asked.

"Surprised you didn't notice me when you passed by at 4:30, Deimos." He strode over to the table, agile like a cat, yet powerful like a bull, and stood, towering over his comrades.

"Rest assured, I didn't sleep much today. Heard you guys discussing typical philosophical bullshit, though."

Hank shrugged, "So long as it doesn't have to do with me, I don't honestly care."

"But it does have something to do with you," Deimos said.

"So be it." Hank said as he sat down at the head of the table. "Brief me."

* * *

"...and that's pretty much it." Deimos finished.

Hank picked up his beer can Sanford gave him earlier and swilled the fluid inside. After draining every drop, he put down the empty can and crushed it flat with his palm.

"So what do you think?" Deimos asked him.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Well the beer's pretty damn good, and I'm glad to finally have an _actual_ jaw back in place. Otherwise, it would spill out of the holes in my mouth." Hank answered. His hand continued to crush the beer can as he spoke, until it was almost a two-dimensional disk.

Although Sanford and Deimos were interested in visualizing the image of beer spilling out of Hank's mouth like a sprinkler, Deimos shook his head.

"No, not the drink, I'm talking about what Sanford and I were saying. You know… whether or not we can be accepted into society. As human beings."

Hank sighed one of those long, dragged out sighs.

"Well?" Deimos egged on.

"Well," he started, "I honestly think you and Sanford should just get over it. Stop thinking about this shit."

"Wha-? Why not?"

"Because," Hank responded, getting ready to get off his chair. "...we all know too damn well that it'll never happen."

"Sure it will! I mean...it _can_ happen! Right?" Deimos yelled, facing Sanford for some sort of support.

He received none.

Hank ignored Deimos's words. "...Anyways, it won't happen, because you can't take back murder. Stealing? Sure, you can give it back to the person you stole it from. Lying ain't a big deal either, just tell the truth. Murder? Hell no. Not murder. You kill someone, they don't come back, most of the time. That's how it works."

He flicked his wrist, sending his crushed beer can flying into the recycling bin like a frisbee. "We're destined to stay where we are. That's just how it is."

"Come on, man!" Deimos said, the pleading in his voice growing more and more evident, "If we took out an entire army, I'm pretty sure this isn't any harder! I bet if we just think a little, we-!"

"I'm out." Hank announced as he pushed away from the table.

Deimos watched as Hank moved from the kitchen into the living room. The techie took Hank's seat at the table and stared up at the ceiling as Sanford remained silent.

After some time, Deimos sat up, his expression morose. He half-heartedly pulled out a cigarette and slipped on his lighter glove, something he tinkered together back in the Nevadan War. He flicked his thumb, clicking a piece of flint against the steel on the back of his index finger, creating a spark; at the same time, a concealed pump let out a small jet of fuel, creating a small blaze at the end of his thumb.

To the bystander, however, it looked like Deimos just created fire from nothing. The glove summoned suppressed memories. Sanford blankly stared, chin resting on his arms.

He was lost in thought; they had a long history.

* * *

" _Hah, fooled you, San. I bet it'll work on the AAHW too. They'll shit bricks when they see that I'm magical, sorta like that Jebus bastard!"_

" _It's only gonna work once, 'cause I bet you'll tell the Agents how you made it so they'll think you're super smart."_

" _Hey, the only reason I told_ you _was because I'm your friend. Right, San?"_

" _Or...maybe you just wanted to show off your ability to make intricate and completely useless shit?"_

" _Come on, bro. That's not the point… am I your friend?"_

" _Of course, you dumbass. Is that even a question?"_

" _Awesome! Can I call you San-Bro? Bro-San?"_

" _No."_

* * *

Deimos, with a long sigh, lit a cigarette and took a deep draw, exhaling a long jet of smoke. He stared at the small fire on his finger. Perhaps he was remembering what death felt like. Perhaps he was thinking… brooding about a future that didn't care about any of them.

He clenched a fist and slammed it on the table; the flicker on the end of his thumb died in a puff of smoke. His face was grim.

Sanford continued to stare into space and into his memories.

* * *

" _Oh… Oh God no..."_

 _I turned over Deimos' mangled corpse. His crumpled twenty-dollar bill was still in his pocket, some stupid bet that they had made the day before...and would never be resolved._

 _The left side of his face was blasted away, leaving dark red, congealing blood on the floor. leaving the side of his fac-Jebus, I couldn't look. I made hundreds of kills, and somehow this one corpse… It made me feel sick to the stomach in an entirely different way..._

* * *

With a solemn expression, Deimos stepped briskly out the house, slamming the door behind door slamming seemed to jolt Sanford back to reality.

No. He was not going to let that happen to Deimos again.

 _Except that's exactly what he was doing now with nothing._

Sanford cleared his throat, the words finally coming out.

"You couldn't take a minute to even bullshit the kid?"

Hank silently watched the comedy skits that flashed by on the television. His laughter was replaced with a scowl.

"Talk to me, Hank."

"Everything else Deimos has been doing this entire time was _bullshit_. All of it piling up into one big mountain he's gonna eventually fall off of, and you want me to make it _higher_?"

Hank turned to Sanford, the red glass of his goggles bringing no warmth to the eyes behind them.

"What he needs is to grow the fuck up. And the sooner he falls off Bullshit Mountain, the sooner that can start happening."

Sanford stared back, his own eyes now as heated as Hank's were cold. Then, he narrowed them and took a deep breath.

"You know what, Hank? You might be _great_ at killing people, but not much else. Deimos can get ridiculous and act like a total idiot at times, sure. But he's still young for his age, so it's not hard to think he'd probably want to live those years up. And even then, you have to admit that it isn't half bad thinking about how we could live our lives doing something more meaningful than just wasting away on blood money."

"And it's _my_ responsibility to do that?"

"No, Hank. _Your_ responsibility is to just act like a decent fucking human being a tenth of the time."

"You do realize you're talking to the 'human being' that died eight times, right?"

"I guess I am." Sanford stood and walked towards the door. He paused and turned his head. "But I also guess that 200 IQ of yours isn't enough for you to get off your lazy ass and actually make yourself useful for something other than ending lives, is it?"

For the second time that dawn, the front door slammed shut. Now, at least for the next couple of minutes, Hank was truly alone.

Things were always better alone.

Hank said nothing, as he continued to arbitrarily surf through the channels, only stopping at random intervals to readjust his grip on the remote. He was too used to holding objects as if he were about to use them to maim or kill, and his grip on arbitrary objects often subconsciously reverted to that of a knife-fighter's.

Those grips don't work well with remotes.

During one of the moments he stopped changing channels, the screen showed a group of happy schoolchildren, their arms linked as they sang in joyful chorus. The television, in contrast to anything else in the room, was broadcasted in color.

Hank hurled the remote at the TV. The remote missed his target, the power button, by a few centimeters; instead, it collided into the wall beside the TV. Somehow, even with half of Hank's brutal strength, the remote managed to stay mostly intact as it clattered to the floor. The batteries, however, popped out from the backside, rolling around in lazy circles.

" _...it isn't half bad thinking about how we could live our lives doing something more meaningful than just wasting away on blood money,"_ Sanford's voice echoed.

"No. It isn't 'half bad'," Hank said, as if Sanford was still in the room with him. "It's fucking awful."

* * *

(Original A/N): So how was it? I know some things might change after Madness day 2012 (9/22/12) and so-forth, but I just want to remind you that I wrote this after Madness Combat 10 had came out. This is my first fanfiction, so I would appreciate some reviews and pointers. Thanks for reading, and don't worry, a lot of action will follow through soon. This is going to be a long story.

* * *

A/N Version 2:

Revision is going along nicely. Things are starting to look a lot more mature and developed compared to the original. This isn't to say that it is necessarily great; we still would greatly appreciate your feedback! So go ahead and leave a comment in the comments section below, rate, subscribe, and favorite!

Kappa. Have a nice day,

~Spirit & Alias

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ :

1 - The "Fuck this shit"/"Fucking shit" motif. Much symbolic. Such amaze.

2 - Sanford and Deimos switched places at the start of the chapter, for consistency's sake.

3 - Sanford is a lot more chill. Also for consistency's sake.

4 - Hank angrily throws the remote. Because, screw you television.

5 - More description added.

6 - Grammatical errors removed.

7 - Narration and dialogue improved.

8 - Diction enhanced.

9 - _The universe is a better place._


	3. Dawn of the Drunks

_(Original)_ A/N: I've read on more about fanfictions and I realized how long a good fanfic chapter is. I'm sorry for the short two chapters I've had before. From now on, I'm writing at least 2,000 to 3,000 words per chapter. So, without further ado, I give you Chapter 3 of Final Salvation.

* * *

Chapter 3: Dawn of the Drunks

* * *

Hank sat on his stool, hands over his face, thinking. The TV blared in the background, but was mostly ignored.

It wasn't concern that drove Hank to stand, but rather his stomach. Sanford should have made breakfast by now, and Hank would certainly have heard him entering the house. He checked his mental clock; it was twenty seconds to six AM.

"Where the hell are they?"

After counting out another hour, five minutes, and thirty-six seconds, he decided to call Deimos' cell phone.

"Come on, pick up. Christ!"

Eventually, someone did pick up. Hank soon wished that he hadn't.

 _"Heyyoooo,"_ came out of the speakers, slurred almost beyond recognition.

"Cut the crap. Who's this?" Hank replied, his tone demanding.

 _"Is mee...hic, Samfurd!"_ A thunderous belch emitted from the speaker, and Hank involuntarily drew back. _"Haow d'yueee naawt… hic... remumbah meii?"_

It was reasonable to conclude that whoever speaking was "Sanford."

"Sanford? Where the hell are you! You two have been gone for _hours!_ "

 _"No...hic... no reeesun t'bee maad Haynckk! We juzz...hic...havin...fuhnn maaan!"_ Sanford told him, his voice dizzying even Hank.

"Fucking shit… Never mind. Where's Deimos? I want to talk to him."

 _"Deymoezzze?"_

"...Yeah. 'Deymoezzze.'"

 _"Shurre! Ayy Deymozz! De...hic... de fone'z fo' yuuuuuuuu!"_ Hank heard Sanford yell.

Hank heard some shuffling. After a period of complete silence, he grew impatient and decided to talk.

"Hello, is anyone-?" he started.

 _"WAZZAUUUUUUUUU...hic...UUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPP!"_

Hank jolted.

" _PPPPPPPPPPPP! PPPPP! PPPPPPPP!"_

Though it shouldn't have, Deimos's farting noises added to his surprise.

"Deimos? What the flipping fuck are you and Sanford doing?"

 _"Yuu...yuu... hic... mad brroskii? We'zz juz gotz de chiickz and we be ...hic... ha-"_

Deimos abruptly stopped. There was a sound of something metal clanking against a table and people cheering.

"Deimos. Deimos!"

 _"An' wee havin' hic...beerz!"_ Deimos finished.

"Beers? You drank just before you headed out of the house and the first place you decided to go was a fucking bar? Where are you right now?"

 _"Uz? We'z ...hic... wha-huuh? Samfurd! Don' jump ovah...de taybl!"_

 _"FUGK YEEAA….hic...AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAHAHAHHHH!"_ Hank heard Sanford screech in the background, amidst the sounds of bottles crashing and people hollering. _"SUGK MA DIIIICK!"_

"Where are you two?!" Hank finally began shouting.

 _"De...club maaaaan! Cluub… hic... Club EMMM!"_ Deimos answered.

Club M. Of course they were _there_.

Hank sighed. "Stay put there, you imbeciles. I'm picking you guys up. You leave the club, you die, do you understand?"

 _"Jah… hic... shurre braah!"_ Deimos clumsily replied. _"Yeeaahh! 'Nuther… hic... round? HIT MEH UP!"_

" _Excuse me, sir, please, I need you to get off the table and- AGH-!"_

Hank hung up the phone before the waiter could end his sentence. He turned to leave, but just before he did, took a moment to pause.

"Club M," he said to himself.

Hank pulled off his gloves, slipped on some brass knuckles, and put the gloves back on over the knuckles. He would need it.

He certainly did last time.

He took Sanford's keys off of his dangling meathook, commandeered the sedan, and drove off. There were too many memories connected with Club M for him to forget where it was. He knew it was revitalized as a "normal" club… at least, as normal as a club could get. He also knew, as shitty as it was, that it was the same place he had died for a third time. It was supposed to be his last.

It wasn't.

* * *

Hank pulled up in front of the club. He slid out of his car, silent as a shadow, and loped inside. The club had changed drastically since his mission; once, the club was a privately-owned local hotspot, and AAHW agents would often come by to enjoy themselves there with Tricky the Clown as the master DJ. All of that was gone now, as if it hadn't existed there in the first place.

Hank started scanning the room for his two drunken comrades while some people stared and whispered at the famous killer. Recent renovations had quadrupled the size of the original dance floor, making his mission all the more tedious. Eventually he went over to the bartender and asked him.

"Excuse me," Hank started, grabbing the attention of the club worker.

" _Have you seen two retards that happen to be the other two most lethal men in this city..."_ was his next statement, but he thought over it.

"I'm looking for Deimos and Sanford."

"They're there." The bartender pointed in a direction behind the veteran, taking any possible measure to avoid Hank's gaze. "If you could, please get 'em outta here. The one in the hat nearly fell on top of one of the waiters."

Sure enough, dozens of beers were piled on their table and girls flanking them on all sides. And in the center of it all, was Deimos and Sanford, showing off their muscles to the giggling females.

"Of course he nearly did. Thanks."

Hank walked up to them, but before he could say anything, Deimos waved at him like a madman.

"Heyah! Tha... _hic_...Daz Hank girlz! H-hay Hank!"

The girls, after scanning the killer's muscular figure, gave Hank some approving looks. Hank shoved his hand into his pockets, fists clenched.

"Deimos, Sanford… what the fuck are you two doing?"

"We wurr havin'... _hic_... fuhn man!" SAnford told him.

"Fantastic. We're going home. Now."

"Yoo... _hic_... such a parr... _hic..._ parrtee poopah, Haynck!"

"Believe me, I have my experience with that, especially in this particular place. And at this particular time, I think it would be in your best interests if you two split from those halfwits and into my car."

"Hey!" One of the girls yelled indignantly.

"Ah, excuse me," Hank replied. "I should have gone with your formal titles. Whores. Yeah, sounds about right."

Deimos stood up very slowly, staggering somewhat. "Yu... _hic_... dun'...dun' talk to muh purdy girlz... lyke dat...yu...parrtee poopah!"

Hank watched as his housemate finally stood up and put his fists up, still staggering from the alcohol.

"Git...get... _hic..._ redeh ninjuh man! Yurr gunna get… fukt!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Dei-"

Deimos threw a sloppy punch at Hank, to which he effortlessly ducked and sidestepped to the left. The techie looked surprised, thinking that his blow must have been the fastest thing in the world. After a moment of quick thinking, Deimos repeats the same exact action for the same exact result… except the momentum of his own punch made him stagger, then fall to the ground face-first.

Hank readied his fighting stance just as Deimos started snoring on the ground.

"Unbelievable."

He turned to Sanford, who was still flirting with the drunken girls as if nothing had happened. Hank picked him and Deimos up by their collars and hoisted them, draping one of them on each shoulder like sacks. Like a child, Sanford knocked his hands against Hank's back, but soon went out cold too.

"Well, well, well. If it ain't the tough guy Hank?" A man shouted, his tone derisive.

Even from a meter away, the smell of alcohol was unmistakable. Hank ignored the drunk and walked on, pushing him aside as he went.

"Walking away, huh? Old dog forgot his old tricks?"

The thug's friends and a few others sniggered, while the rest shifted nervously in their seats. Hank remained silent as he carried on.

"You know, you took care of those two bitches _real_ nice."

Hank stopped. He gently placed Deimos and Sanford on the floor, his back still turned.

"You're crossing lines that you _don't_ want to cross, pal," the veteran warned.

"Oh, what'cha gonna do, huh? Jerk me off like how you've probably jerked those two off too? Bet they ran in here cause you beat 'em too hard in the ass! You don't do anything else other than that, anyways!"

His friends laughed, while others began their departure away from the impending storm. The challenger came in closer.

"You think just cause you kill people that you're hot shit, yeah? You ain't fucking nothing without someone to kill, cocksucker. Me and my buddies back at AAHW boot camp knew it. Ya know, before you killed them all. And you _know_ that."

Things started to grow clearer. Hank slowly turned to meet the clubber, eye to eye. The man grinned, his voice as low as a whisper.

"What are you going to do about it, huh?"

"Apologize," Hank said, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

The drunk roared in laughter, turning to his friends. "See, I told ya he's a pussy! Has to apologize, 'cause he's too scared without a gun-!"

"No," Hank interjected.

The people who saw it happen claimed that Hank had moved in so fast, none of them could see where he was until he stopped. In less than a second, Hank blurred forth four feet, sending his right fist square in the other man's stomach. The thug fell backwards, managing to grab onto a table behind him, mouth wide open and gasping for air. As Hank stepped closer, the thug fell forward, clutching at his stomach, still wheezing.

Hank grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him up a few inches, so they were still eye-to-eye. For that one small instance in the club, the Nevadan War and all its miseries came back to life. And just as how Hank and the clubber remembered it, nobody, not even the waiter, outside of their old factions stepped forward to do _anything_.

"I meant for _you_ to apologize. I don't know what you went through back in the War and you definitely don't know what I went through either. What you _should_ know is that these two help pay fucking insurance on my house because filth like you keep shattering our windows when you think we're not looking." Hank's grip tightened. "In a way, they're my property, and if you want to challenge any of my stuff, come on over. We'll play those old games we buried a long time ago if you want. Are you sorry now?"

The man frantically nodded, his red face glistening with sweat.

"Say it, or I'll break your fucking neck."

"I'm sorry."

"Louder! So everyone can hear!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Good." Hank replied, his voice still deathly-calm. His hand opened, and the man landed on the floor in a crumpled heap. "I'm glad we had this talk and settled our differences."

The man laid silent. Hank went over to the bartender and slid a 50-dollar bill across the table. Then, he picked up Deimos and Sanford, and carried them out over his shoulders.

The music in the club began blasting again, as people wordlessly made a pathway for Hank to pass through. A circle of people began to surround the thug on the ground, who struggled to stand.

" _Urgh..."_

" _Damn, he's wasted."_

" _Yeah. Hank really fucked him up."_

 _ **GET UP!**_

Hank's eyes widened as he heard the last line. He spun around as the sound of all-to-familiar radio static scratched at his ears, nearly dropping both of his roommates.

The static vanished. Only empty stares met him in return.

Hank slowly turned back to the front exit, readjusting his hold on Sanford and Deimos. He shuddered and stepped quickly outside.

There were some acts he didn't want to replay and this was one of them.

* * *

Hank sighed as he was finally able to shove the two bodies into the sedan without injuring himself. He reached into his trenchcoat pocket and brought out the set of keys, twisting it a half-turn in the ignition port.

"...Heyy Hank!" Deimos said with putrid breath.

"What."

"Wh… _hic_...Why did 'chu hit mei in de club?" Deimos asked.

At least he was clearer to understand now.

"I didn't. You fell asleep while you were trying to break my jaw."

"Ohhh… Okeh."

The car returned to blissful silence, but only momentarily.

"Heyy...Hank?"

"What," Hank snapped again.

"Has...have yuu evur wundered, why… _hic_...why we havv _two_ balls…?"

"... What?"

"D'yuu evur... _hic_ … think that...that God... He put... _hic..._ two ballz...for a reezon?"

"No, Deimos. I don't."

"Okeh."

More silence, save for Deimos' drunken hiccups. And then...

"...Hank?"

"What!"

"...D'yuu evr think... _hic_... dat, mebbe iz a _sign_? Dat mebbe we... _hic..._ has two balls 'cuzz one gedz lonelier without the other? Lyke...whaddif we juz has...juz one... _hic_... big ball? Wouldn' yuu evr luuk down an'... _hic_...an' think: 'Aww man, juz... _hic..._ luuk...FUGGIN' luuk at de poor liddle guy. He'z all 'lone... _hic_... cold an' helplezz, an'-"

Hank swung his head around. "Deimos! Shut the fuck up for the next ten minutes!"

Deimos's eyes widened. "Hank! RO-O-O-OAD!"

Turning back around, the ex-killer grit his teeth as his eyes met two blaring lights from the front of a pickup truck. He swerved to the right, narrowly avoiding the collision with what little reaction-time he had to work with.

"JACKASS!" he heard the other driver yell over angry car honks.

Hank was breathing heavily, the familiar feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Deimos hiccuped again in the silence as the sound of sirens rose in intensity.

"Oh fuck… Deimos?"

"Yeh?"

"Is there a police car behind us?"

Deimos turns around. A few seconds later, he answered, "Nope."

Hank sighs with relief. Maybe he really was hearing things; first from the Club, and now on the highway too-

"But… _hic_... dere's a car with duh red and bloo _… hic_ … lites-"

"Deimos."

"Yeeesss?"

"I honestly hope you get stabbed in a very, _very_ cold and dark place."

"Wuh...daz... not very nice!"

Hank pulled over and, sure enough, the officer emerged from his vehicle, paper in one hand and flashlight in the other.

"Hello, officer."

"You do know I saw what you just did right now, right?" The officer asked as he shone his light over Hank's face.

"Yes." Hank responded.

"Well maybe if you took off that mask you'd-"

The officer froze midsentence. Hank sighed.

"Yes. I am fully aware I'm him. You don't have to remind me."

"Well, as an officer of the law, what I _do_ need to remind you is that you nearly got yourself killed back there."

"I am also fully aware of that fact, too." Hank pointed at the seats behind him. "Unfortunately, those two probably aren't."

The officer took a look at a drunk Deimos and an unconscious Sanford.

"Heh… heh, Hankie made a no-no!" Deimos drawled.

The officer looks back at Hank, his eyes serious. "Drunken trouble?"

"It's been a long night."

"Are you drunk too?"

"I would hope not."

The officer stood in silence, digesting the information, before once again speaking. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't give you a ticket for that stunt you pulled off."

"If I didn't do what I did three years ago, I wouldn't be talking to you right now. I'd probably be shooting at you, you and your kids would be shooting at me, and nobody would be asking any questions about it. Too bad bullets don't have speed limits, yeah?"

The officer found himself stuck in eye-contact with the killer's goggles.

"...Mark my words, this is your only warning. Next time you screw up, it's 'go to jail, don't pass go, don't collect 200 dollars.'"

"To be honest, I wouldn't mind spending a night there."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Good night." the officer simply replied, walking back to his car.

As the officer drove off, Hank turned around to face Deimos. "For the record, this is entirely _your_ and Sanford's fault. If I got a ticket back there, it'd come out of your shares of the Antithesis paycheck, so count yourself lucky."

Deimos started to sob. "Why don'tchu luv... _hic..._ mei?"

"I'd love you if it'll get you into a casket any faster."

* * *

Hank carefully parked the sedan into the garage; the garage was probably the only thing that prevented it from being stolen by any trespassers feeling particularly confident one night.

After shutting down the car, he took out Sanford and Deimos. Just as he put Sanford over his shoulder…

"... _Bleh_."

Something warm ran down his back. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened.

"Fuck!"

Hank dropped Sanford like a bag of bricks. He raised his foot up, but stopped himself just before he could stomp Sanford's face in. Instead, he threw his soiled clothes onto the ground with as much force as possible.

"Sanford, I swear to whoever the fuck is up there, I'm going to kill you and Deimos when your hangovers pass!"

* * *

(Original) A/N: Well, that ends Chapter 3. The reason why I'm uploading all three chapters at once is because I was working on them before let me publish them to "reduce spam". I am glad about how the story is turning out that's for sure. I don't honestly know Hank's, Sanford's, and Deimos's behaviors or personality well, so I made some that I think suits them. This is not a comedy fanfic although this chapter makes it look like one. It is a drama and action fanfic with lots of cliffhangers to keep you hooked. I hope you enjoy the story so far, this chapter is what I think of as a funny treat to all you Madness Combat fans out there. Like I said, this story is far from over; it's just beginning. Good night and reviews would be greatly appreciated!

* * *

Alias' A/N: It's great fun to edit stuff! Super stoked to be working with our glorious leader, Spirit. I think he's one of the only people who found my nitpicking to be more helpful than obnoxious, so thanks go to Sensei Spirit for making me not feel useless/ostracized/both.

Admittedly, Spirit's writing, even at this early stage, always had serious potential. This story was what got me hooked into this community, and a chance to edit it is akin to giving me some whiteout, a ballpoint, and a free pass to change the U.S. Constitution. All we did here was polish it and mend some cracks. Though, there are a few parts that made us shudder and laugh at the same time, like a very familiar twisted psychopathic clown.

Alright, I'm done. Here's our glorious leader!

* * *

Spirit's A/N: Hot tamales, this story is looking a lot better than my 14-year old-past self could have imagined. I have to seriously thank Alias here; he's really done some great work with me over the past few days on this old clusterfuck, and I really appreciate it. It's a lot of fun as a facepalm/edit my way through this old fic, and at the same time, a huge relief that I'm giving it the freshening up it deserves.

Not much to say here other than that, but thank you for reading/re-reading this story! I appreciate every review/view we receive, and hopefully, you'll stick around long enough to see the newer versions of the next few chapters! This is my 10,000 view special (oh, I didn't mention that earlier? Excuse me. XD) to all of you great readers, so I hope you enjoyed/are enjoying this special treat! :D

Changelog time!

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ :

1 - Chapter title is now more badass.

2 - Deimos doesn't consider their faces to look like "penisez." Originally, I planned their heads would look a lot like in the Madness animations, but I later realized it would be a lot easier to consider the characters holding normal features.

3 - Added a bit of history for the "thug." No harm in that, right? Right?

4 - Police scene revamped with more law in it.

5 - Shower's gone. Let's just presume he would take one like any other normal human being that just got vomitted on, okay?

6 - More description added.

7 - Grammatical errors removed.

8 - Narration and dialogue improved.

9 - Diction enhanced.

10 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

We hope you enjoyed this renewed chapter of Final Salvation and hope to see you in the next one. :)

~Spirit

P.S. Check out Alias-Maxima's stories if ya'll are waiting for me to update my own. They're seriously amazing, and if you like my crap, you'll definitely love his great works! Go check 'em out, I'm definitely sure you won't regret it. ;)

~Spirit

P.P.S: (BTDubs I'm helping Spirit write his next chapter) Anyways, Spirit you make me sound too good.

~Alias

P.P.P.S: You know it's true.

~Spirit

P.P.P.P.S: Stop being modest…ehhh, okay let's just stop now.

~Alias


	4. Hangovers and Ideas

Chapter 4: Hangovers and Ideas

* * *

The first thing Sanford realized when he woke up was the fact that he was lying on the ground, one of his legs still slowly inching off the side of the bed, his arms splayed across the cold hardwood floor.

The next thing he noticed was the splitting headache. And then, the smell.

"Guh..." he groaned, as he forced himself into an upright position. He vaguely remembered downing at least twenty cans of beer some inordinate amount of time ago. He looked out the window and it looked as if it was morning once again. He lifted his watch hand wearily to confirm his suspicions: 7 AM, on the dot.

Sanford pawed off his damp greyshirt and clumsily tossed on another. He would've preferred to stay in bed, but he was ludicrously hungry. He felt as if he hadn't eaten for a whole day. He lurched on over to the kitchen, where he saw Hank with his head in his arms, quietly breathing.

Sanford raised his eyebrows. He tentatively took a step forwards, then stopped, around three meters away from the tired warrior.

"Hank?" Sanford cautiously inquired, concern in his voice.

Hank sprang to life, hands in a fighting stance, almost causing Sanford to fall in surprise.

"Ah shit!" Sanford yelled in utter shock. Yet, Hank did not flinch. His tired eyes glanced once, then, as if he had finally realized that Sanford was not a foe sneaking up on him, his stance relaxed.

Hank slowly lowered his hands and, with the deliberation of a sleepwalker, he righted his chair and sat back down, putting his head in his arms once again.

Sanford, however, couldn't help but notice that there was a sandwich on the table. He almost gleefully sat down at the opposite end from Hank, and, ignoring the sandwich's contents, began to reach toward the plate.

"I wouldn't eat that," He heard Hank mutter, his voice muffled.

Sanford's hand remained extended as he replied, annoyance evident on his face.

"Why not?"

"It's been there for a day. I put it there when I made it."

Sanford stopped reaching for the plate.

"A _whole_ day?"

"Twenty-one hours, seventeen minutes, forty-six seconds. Close enough."

"Okay, okay, what I meant to say was: how long was I out?"

"Twenty hours, fifty-four minutes, seventeen seconds."

"Thanks." Sanford replied. His voice evoked no response from Hank, who looked to be sleeping once again. Sanford pushed off the table and popped open the fridge.

Sanford scanned the fridge interior and shook his head. It had to be the hangover acting up, because he was seeing things that he didn't want to see. He looked back.

It wasn't the hangover.

"What the hell happened to the lettuce? And the cabbage? I was saving those for tonight's salad!"

"It's in the sandwich," Hank replied, his voice robotic. "Now shut up."

Sanford huffed in frustration and decided not to lecture Hank about the importance of a balanced meal. He procured some eggs, fresh herbs and a panoply of ingredients out of the fridge. He began to mince some greens, his knife slicing rapidly.

The rapid-fire sound of Sanford's knife on the cutting board must have triggered an adrenaline rush somewhere deep in Deimos' mind, because he charged down the hall, shirtless and screaming, pistol aimed at a hundred invisible enemies.

Deimos stopped abruptly, gun still raised, as Sanford and Hank slowly looked up and stared. Deimos felt his face reddening, and his voice died in his throat. He clicked the safety on and sighed, sidling over to the table.

"Sorry. Got a nightmare 'bout getting killed... again," he muttered under his breath.

"...Hm. You've gained weight." Sanford pointedly remarked, still staring. "I'm gonna have to put less bacon in your omelette."

"Shut up, San."

Hank put his head back into his arms, this time his hands clenching into fists. Deimos took one look at Hank and decided not to disturb him. He returned a few minutes later, a fresh set of clothes on, an unlit cigarette between his teeth. He stepped up to Sanford, who was busy sauté-ing a pan-full of assorted greens. The aroma was incredible, and for the umpteenth time, Deimos quietly thanked The Higher Powers for assigning him a partner who could cook.

"What's up with Hank?" Deimos whispered, as the veggies crackled in the background.

"Dunno. He was like that when I found him." Sanford concisely whispered back, tossing the pan's contents in the air once more, then scooping them onto a large serving dish.

"You two idiots remembered absolutely _nothing_ from the morning before?" Hank asked, somehow hearing their whispers earlier from the kitchen.

"No, not really. Everything's pretty much a blur now that I think about it…" Deimos murmured.

He took his cigarette and was about to light it on the gas stove until he was stopped by Sanford's murderous glare.

"Deimos."

"I'm kidding, San. Chill."

Hank lazily turned to Sanford, hoping the older of the two would have the mental capacity to recall the events that occurred. To his dismay, Sanford shook his head.

"Nope. Nothing." He quipped, as cracked two eggs simultaneously, one in each hand.

Hank sighed, but before he started to recount his own nightmares, Deimos had snapped his fingers.

"...Oh wait! Now I remember!"

* * *

 _Sanford had ran outside in a hurry, relieved to see Deimos was sitting down just a couple of meters outside of the house._

 _"Hey buddy," Sanford started as he sat down next to him. "You doing okay?"_

 _Deimos nodded with deliberation, pressing the cigarette to his lips and taking a slow inhale._

 _"Well, you're not doing a good job convincing me that you are." Sanford told him._

 _"I'm fine. Honest. Just… Hank's an ass, I guess. Whatever."_

 _"Yeah, we both know Hank. He can be a douche sometimes… well, okay,_ most _of the time. But if you think about it, it's really not his fault. The Higher Powers, they at least partnered us, you know?" Sanford explained._

 _Deimos said nothing, smoke jetting out of his open mouth as he made a deep sigh._

 _"But Hank was all alone, no one to cover his ass on any mission, no one to talk to. I think after a while, when you can't describe your problems to anyone, your heart just starts to rust, and hope… doesn't become an option anymore." Sanford continued, doing his best to avoid coughing on the secondhand smoke._

 _"Maybe." Deimos reluctantly agreed._

 _Sanford stood up. "Tell you what, let's go to Club M. Maybe we can chill there."_

" _Club M? You mean…?"_

" _Yeah, I know. That one. Or should I say, the_ new _one. Bet Hank's not gonna go looking for us there, yeah?"_

 _"You think it's really a good idea, with us being… ya know. Us?"_

" _Don't worry about it. It's a club, man. Most of the people there are too drunk to give a shit, I bet!" Sanford grinned. "Weren't you the one who said you wanted to get out there more?"_

 _Deimos nodded slowly. "Yeah… yeah, okay Sanford! Sure! Let's do it!"_

* * *

 _"Sanford! Sanford, let's get some drinks man!" Deimos yelled over the club music._

 _"I don't think that's a good idea, Deimos! We just drank before we headed out, remember!"_

" _Aw, c'mon dude! Seriously, we look like a bunch of virgins in a library if we don't drink somethin'!"_

" _But we_ are _virgins, Deim-!"_

" _LALALA, CAN'T HEAR YOU! But for real, please Sanford?! We can just have the damn shit on our table just for show, okay!"_

" _Alright, fine. But just ONE, got it?"_

" _Fuck yeah!"_

 _Deimos sauntered over to the bar and waved a five-dollar bill to attract the barkeep's attention. He tipped the five dollar bill, and began thinking about what to order._

" _Nevalcohol Blonde, 2012 stock! Pssh, that's the lightweight brand!"_

 _Deimos placed a hand under his chin, narrowing his eyes. "... Or was that supposed to be Blonde Lite? Ah fuck it, let's start out with… ten cans!"_

" _You're not gonna walk home straight if you take that much," the bartender warned._

 _Deimos pulled out two one-hundred-dollar bills. "You can keep the change as a tip. Road looking any straighter now?"_

 _The barkeeper hastened to get the alcohol. Deimos returned to the table, but just before he could greet Sanford, he found himself gawking someplace else._

 _Deimos whistled. "Hey, check it Sanford! Cuties, twelve o' clock!"_

 _"Huh? Oh you mean the 4 of them over there?"_

 _"Yeah man! Bro, you wanna see the master at his work?"_

 _"If it's anything like the girls back at Antithesis, I'd_ love _to see it firsthand."_

" _Bah, they didn't appreciate the work of art my body is! Like seriously, these abs belong in a museum!" Deimos straightened out his back. "Watch and learn!"_

* * *

 _"Chug! Chug! Chug!" The crowd cheered. Bets were thrown about rapid-fire, and the shouting rose to a nearly impenetrable din._

" _Another fifty for the older bloke! Sanford, right? Fifty!" One of the crowd members shouted._

" _Naw dude, I raise ya fifty on that kid, Deimos!" Another yelled._

" _Fuck that! Hundred for Sanford!"_

 _Deimos and Sanford slammed their empty beer cans down at the exact same time. They glared at each other, as they each reached for their 5th beer._

 _"Yuu...hic... aren't gunna win dis, Sam..." Deimos yelled, his head reeling._

 _"Hell, I'm jus'...gettin' starded!" Sanford shouted back, alcohol dripping down his chin._

 _Sanford tilted his head back and downed his 5th can in one gulp. He grabbed another, chugging it down, finishing two beers in the time it took Deimos to finish one. The people around them "Ohhhhh"'d as the shouting grew louder._

" _CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!"_

" _Get your wallet out, Jones!"_

" _It's not over yet! Come on, Deimos! Daddy needs a new watch!"_

 _Deimos, surprised that Sanford was still conscious, tried to even the score, reaching for his next can… but his resolve, or his liver, failed. Deimos' numbed head crashed into the table._

" _YEAAHHHHH! I'MMA GOD!" Sanford yelled in triumph._

 _Cheers and laughter exploded throughout the crowd. Money was passed around, bets were settled, and everyone soon scattered. Sanford and Deimos were, once again, all alone with the girls they had hit on earlier._

 _Just then, Deimos's phone rang._

 _"Dood...yerr *hic* fone...iz ring." Sanford told Deimos. Sanford's eyes fluttered as he struggled to stay awake._

 _Deimos, head still on the table, waved his hand to Sanford, who answered for him._

 _Sanford answered the phone. "Heyyoooo?" he answered._

* * *

"...and, well, you know the rest." Deimos finished, cringing slightly.

"For fuck's sake..." Hank muttered.

Sanford's face turned a slight shade of red while he placed a fresh omelette on each of their plates. "Haha… yeah, sorry."

" _You_ , Sanford, have a lot more to be sorry about than Deimos." Hank let out a deep, relaxed sigh. "At least it's over now. But you're cleaning up after your own mess."

Sanford nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'll wash your clothes and the garage floor. Not like you guys leave me to take care of that shit in the first place anyways, right? Ugh..."

Deimos placed a hand on his head, dragging himself towards the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet and groaned.

"Hey, Hank?" Deimos asked.

"Yeah?"

"Can you do one more solid?"

"One more favor, huh?"

"You know we're out of aspirin pills right?"

"Go get them yourself."

"Please man, I'm begging ya here! My head's killing me and I'm pretty sure if I walk out like this, I'm gonna get run over by a car or somethin'!"

"Good."

"Bro!"

"Alright, fine." Hank got up from the kitchen table. "Can't stand looking at either of you right now, anyways."

"Thanks, buddy. Love you man!"

"Eat shit."

* * *

Minus the usual worried glances of surrounding pedestrians, the walk to the pharmacy proved to be uneventful. He got the pills, ignored everyone else around him, and headed off, bottle in hand.

Too bad he couldn't deafen himself, though.

"Hey, did you hear what… _he_ did last night?"

"You mean at Club M? Yeah, I did! Sounded scary!"

Though Hank's acute hearing rendered it pointless, the two young female gossipers whispered the best they could.

"Maybe we should keep our distance. It was in the papers too, after all."

"Really, what'd it say?"

"I haven't read it yet, but you should see the picture they used for it!"

What.

Hank froze. The bystanders felt chills go up their spines.

"Oh my god, I think he heard us! Let's go, let's go!"

As they hurried off, Hank walked towards a nearby newsstand. His eyes scanned over all the different newspapers, until…

"What," he said out loud.

The front page showed him grabbing onto the thug from before. It wasn't much, probably since whoever wrote the article must've made some last-minute edits before publication, but the picture alone was more than enough.

"You're shitting me."

Hank slapped a crumpled ten dollar bill onto the newsstand counter, surprising the clerk.

"Sir!" The man who worked the stand called Hank as he sprinted off, "Your change, sir!"

* * *

When Hank kicked open the front door and power-walked to the kitchen, he found Deimos still eating at the table and Sanford washing up.

"Deimos-" Hank was about to begin.

"Hank, you don't need to tell me. I shouldn't have mentioned us changing the world in the first place, it was all my fault and shit, blah blah blah," Deimos interrupted, his tone accepting.

"Well that's great and all, but I wanted to show you _this_."

Deimos had a confused look on his face until Hank handed him the newspaper.

"...Hm." he simply said vaguely.

"What's the matter?" Sanford asked as he walked in the kitchen.

Instead of giving him an answer first, Hank tossed the freshly purchased bottle of pills towards Sanford, watching in slight amusement as Sanford fumbled with the plastic container before getting a firm grip on it.

"Read the front page." Hank finally replied.

Sanford dumped out a pill and dropped it into a glass of water. He saw the front page with Deimos and his eyes widened.

"Well, shit." He muttered, taking a sip of from his glass.

"I told you two this before on our way back, but I'll say it again since you're conscious now. For the record, this is both of your faults."

"Hey, it's not like we _wanted_ this to happen!" Deimos yelled back.

"Really? For your age, you didn't think for a _second_ that drinking at a bar one hour after downing some beer at home was a bad idea?"

The sound of a chair scooting backwards made Hank and Deimos turn their gaze. Sanford cleared his throat nervously.

"Before you start blaming Deimos, Hank, I just wanted to let you know that… well, basically, it's my fault. I should've seen it coming and-"

"Come on, San! I'm not a fucking child!" Deimos interjected. "It's not like I _had_ to drink or anything. You were just trying to make me feel better, San-"

"ENOUGH! You guys done singing Goddamned Kumbaya? Because quite frankly, I don't give half a shit as to who started it!" Hank cut the two off as he pointed to the newspaper that laid on the table in front of them. "More importantly, what are we going to do about _this_?"

Sanford handed another glass of aspirin water to Deimos, who downed it in one gulp. But instead of sighing with relief, he focused his attention on the newspaper, his eyes flicking back and forth as he read each line.

"...Wait a sec. Have you guys actually _read_ what's in here?" Deimos asked.

"What did you find?" Sanford inquired, his voice genuinely curious.

"Something that you and Hank would be interested to hear." Deimos said.

"Well, spit it out." Hank told him.

"Then read!" Deimos asserted, this time with more confidence. For the first time that day, he smiled.

* * *

" _ **Former Mass-Murderer Strikes Again!"**_

 _Article by: Cathy Richards_

 _The infamous Hank J. Wimbleton had been spotted this morning at the local club, commonly known as "Club M." He was apparently found collecting his two roommates and former comrades in combat: Sanford and Deimos._

 _As he was leaving in peace, a man by the name of Brent Eastwood approached, and harassed, Hank. Hank however, did not show any opposition as Brent continually teased his appearance and sexuality, until one witness noted that Brent had called his two roommates the inappropriate terminology for female dogs._

 _Eye witness reports say that Hank had assaulted Brent as a result of his vulgarity. Here are some of those testimonies:_

 _ **'I didn't honestly like Hank, and I still really don't-he would probably be the last person on Earth to look after my kids. But I'm glad he gave Brent a taste of his own medicine... that guy always comes in here drunk and messes around with everybody. Now that Brent will probably shut his mouth, I have to say I'm grateful that I can finally relax in my favorite place without worrying about some jerk being an a-hole.' ~Aaron Chang**_

 _ **'You know, I think that it was Brent's fault for taking in more than he can chew. I mean, come on! We're talking about THE Hank J. Wimbleton here!'**_

 _ **~Sara Reeves**_

 _ **'Hank? Oh yeah, I don't blame him for what he did...though he did off my uncle like five years ago. But that guy Brent, he had it coming. I would be pissed too if someone made fun of my friends like that. You mess with the bull and you get the horns.'**_

 _ **~David Travis**_

 _Although he had delivered the first blow, surprisingly, most witnesses who've seen the whole event unfold support Hank's side. Many are thankful and understanding of his actions, despite his checkered past._

* * *

Sanford was shocked, though slightly touched in hearing Hank react to him and Deimos being badmouthed.

"So… That's it?" Sanford asked, trying to hide his surprise at the article's brevity.

"Yeah. It's pretty short since it must've been a last-minute article." Deimos responded, flipping through the pages of the newspaper.

Hank said nothing. He had returned back to the living room by the time Deimos had finished reading, and was sitting on the couch as the television blared in front of him. Deimos tentatively tapped Hank's shoulder.

Hank did not budge.

With a pout of frustration, Deimos whipped out his phone and quickly typed ten lines of code. He compiled the impromptu program, which caused the T.V. to flicker off.

Hank slowly turned his head, his visage stone-cold.

"What."

"Do you know what this article means, Hank?" Deimos asked him.

"Yeah, I'm a violent son of a bitch in everyone's eyes. What about it?" Hank said with some disgust in his tone.

"You know that's not true! You definitely helped the community out! It might not be much, but… but you did help these people out by kicking this dude's ass! And most of them actually _support_ you!" Deimos said.

"I feel like those quotes were taken out-of-context, Deimos." Hank said.

"Context, schmontext, look! It still made a difference in the public's eyes! I mean...yeah, it might not exactly be the most peaceful thing to do, but it's still _something_ , right?" Deimos exclaimed, his voice excited.

"Fantastic. I'm so glad I did: _'something'_." Hank said, tapping his fingers against the side of his recliner. "Get to your point; I'm missing my show here, you know."

"Well, I was thinking that, maybe we can do… a little more than just ' _something'_ , to shift the public's opinion on us! All three of us, that's all!" Deimos suggested, his spirit undamped.

"Oh? And how exactly do you expect to do that, Deimos?"

"You know Nevada has a high crime rate, right?"

"I think a blind man would've realized it by now."

"Yeah, right, so... why don't we change that, by say, I don't knoooow..." Deimos suggested, "...doing a little _vigilante_ work?"

Hank's fingers stopped moving. "You're not fucking serious."

"Super serious, bro! I mean look at you! Look at this!" Deimos waved towards the sets of barbells piled in the corner of the room. "You've been training. Hell, we all have, but you know, we're in fighting shape, and what do we do? Sit in one spot, staring at screens!"

"Oh my god. You really are serious about this." Hank muttered.

"Whoa, hold up," Sanford decided to intervene. "Okay. So let's assume we actually go with this then. Even if we somehow got all the firepower we need to do this, how the hell are we going to figure out who and where to hit? Last time I checked, street gangs don't exactly hand out business cards."

"Don't worry Sanford, I gotcha covered. Let's just say I have a… _source_ of mine that can help us out with all this." Deimos remarked with a grin.

Hank narrowed his eyes in clear disapproval. "Deimos…"

"Relax Hank, it ain't anybody shady... or at least, anybody we can't handle. In fact, I can bring you guys to him right now if you'd like. I promise that once you get to know him, he'll be like a part of the family!"

Of course, Hank's instincts kicked in, screaming in his head to say _something_ against the techie's idea. Instead, a memory from the back of his head had popped up.

" _But I also guess that 200 IQ of yours isn't enough for you to get off your lazy ass and actually make yourself useful for something other than ending lives, is it?"_

"...Damn it, Sanford." he inadvertently muttered.

"Sanford? Oh yeah, don't worry about him, he's a bit skeptical and shit, but he can fight! I can fight! And you most certainly can!"

"No, that's not what I meant." Then, with a sigh, Hank shook his head. "...Forget it. Before I say anything on the matter though, Sanford, what do _you_ think?"

Hank half-expected Sanford to agree that the idea was totally ludicrous.

"As crazy as it sounds...I think it'd pretty cool if we can pull it off. I can get the chance to fire a gun again and fight, which is something I missed for a while. Deimos is right; it's better than doing nothing all day. Just because The Higher Powers are sending us weekly checks after retiring doesn't mean we should waste away while we sit on our asses." Sanford said.

The other half turned out to be right.

Hank stared at Sanford's face momentarily, hoping to see a break of expression that would at least signal he was joking. Unfortunately for him, Sanford's face was set.

Hank picked the remote to the TV back up, the gravity of the situation weighing down on him. He pressed the red button on the top right, only to see the T.V. failed to respond. Sanford and Deimos watched as Hank the knuckles in his remote hand turned white.

As much as he hated to admit it, just like Sanford, the urge to jump back into the fight was maddening. Yes, that was an undeniable fact; Hank J. Wimbleton wanted to crack some skulls and shoot some men. The blood of a great fighter still flowed through his veins, waiting impatiently for any opportunity that presented itself.

Yet, there was no need to go through any of this. It was completely and utterly pointless.

What did he owe anyone in Nevada? His life? The same one that he had wasted almost ten times, again and again, in some godforsaken war for "humanity's survival?" And the same logic applied for Sanford and Deimos. They were, in fact, the ones who should be repaying him after the fiasco they created this morning.

Plus, even if everything went as planned, what if they still failed to change the attitudes of the public into a more positive one, and instead do the complete _opposite_? They could be kicked right out of town in some sort of fiery riot.

...Well, then again, in retrospect, Hank J. Wimbleton wasn't exactly the most worried of people when it came to risks.

Finally, he spoke.

"Deimos."

"Y-Yeah?" Deimos asked, his excitement slightly getting the better of him.

"Let's do it. BUT, only under one condition!" Hank quickly added just before Deimos jumped for joy or Sanford's jaw hit the floor.

"... _If_ this all backfires, and _if_ we get even more screwed than we are now, you can kiss any other of your crazy ideas goodbye, because it's gonna be my way or the highway by then. Understand?!" Hank said with enough seriousness to scare the living crap out of anyone.

Deimos though, was far too overjoyed to even worry about anything going wrong. "I promise Hank! I swear, when this is all over, you won't regret it-"

"Yeah, yeah." Hank waved off Deimos' words. "...Anyways, you said that you had a 'source' of yours that you'd promise to show us first? Well I'd just _love_ to meet the oh-so charming rat we're about to bet our lives on. And turn on the goddamned TV."

"Oh! Right, I almost forgot about that; no problem! Let me just get some stuff out so we can prepare for all this..." Deimos said as he made a mad dash off to his room. The TV flickered on moments afterwards.

Sanford crossed his arms and whistled. "Damn, I can't remember the last time seeing him this happy. You really gave him hope, you know that?"

"Well, I _hope_ that this idea of his doesn't screw us over. I have a bad feeling about this."

"Relax. You survived a _war_ , damn it. What's somebody like you got anything to worry about in a situation like this?" Sanford asked, as he walked off to get his own stuff ready.

Hank shook his head, secretly disappointed in himself for not saying more than he should've.

"More than you think, Sanford. More than you think."

* * *

(Original) A/N: Chapter 4, done! With about 2,260 words typed! Fuck yeah! I'm on a roll baby! A Kaiser roll! LOL, JK. I thank those of you who are following this story every step of the way. Now the plot's getting tighter than ever, which means the madness will begin soon! I'm just trying to work out a reasonable and realistic way for Deimos's plan to come to life. I have a vague idea, but I can't stop the story here! No way, not at the best part! R&R Please! Every review inspires me to write more in less time! See you in Chapter 5!

* * *

Alias' A/N:

I can't help but notice how silly Spirit's original A.N sounded, but I guess that's why he's writing a new one LOL JK. He's a super cool guy, and I'm more than glad to help edit this potentially great piece of work.

Yeah, I'm a ludicrous introvert, so I think I'll have Spirit write something happy and heartwarming to you guys. He'll probably go on about how I'm a good writer and stuff. I guess that's up to you to decide. Rate, comment, and subscribe pls!

#HankIsDouche

(As an afterthought, iz...soopur fun *hic* wrytin' druhnk *hic* tahhlk.)

-Alias

* * *

Spirit's A/N: Really? I seriously thought I was on a Kaiser roll. XD

Nah, but Alias's right; it's kinda weird to see that I'm so pumped about writing barely 2,000 words when my average now is like...7,000. But hey, I really appreciate all the help Alias has given me so far on all this! I'm really loving how the story is looking now, and I hope you all think the same as well! It feels a lot more fleshed out in my opinion, and it's such a big relief to fix all this.

Anyways, thank you all so much for reading...or reading again! I seriously hope these edits are making a big difference, because we've really spent a lot of time on all this (more time than it took for me to write the original bits in fact).

Not much to say after this, but yeah! Like Alias said: Rate, comment, and...subscribe? XD

Ah well, you get our point.

And hey, once again, check out some of Alias's fics as well if any of you are waiting for any more releases from me! If you love my stuff, then you'll certainly love his as well; we're both sorta working on a joint project to expand the Madness universe just a bit more (even if it is just fanfiction :P)

We hope you enjoyed this chapter of the renewed Final Salvation, and feel the same way for more to come. :)

(And yiisssssss: Druhnk tahhlk iz...besssst tahhlk)

~Spirit

#HankIsIndeedADoucheButMaybeThatWillChange?

(#ForeshadowSimulator2015!)

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_

1 - Article penned by Cathy Richards. You veteran readers will know why that's important. ;)

2 - More description added.

3 - Grammatical errors removed.

4 - Narration and dialogue improved.

5 - Diction enhanced.

6 - _The universe is a better place._


	5. Deals and Guns

Chapter 5: Deals and Guns

* * *

"Okay, so basically, we have to go here first." Deimos drew a circle around a point on the map with a permanent marker. Partially obscured by the newfound ink was the point's vernacular designation: _Langstone's Bar._

"Isn't that part of Dead Nevada?" Sanford asked tentatively.

"Uh… yeah. But there's no way we can get intel on the assholes we're looking for, unless we go there. I know an informant there who might help us out." Deimos patiently explained.

"The catch?" Hank snapped.

"We gotta pay him… like, a lot." Deimos cringed away from Hank slightly as he spoke.

Hank sighed. "How much?"

"Two thousand...?" Deimos' voice trailed off.

Hank raised his eyebrows and uncrossed his legs.

Sanford's mouth gaped in shock. "2K?! What the _hell_ Deimos?"

"Well..." Deimos began, "... people won't talk if we don't give them some dough. And, uhh… we also need to fork an extra grand whenever he gives us good intel so he won't backstab us."

Hank rolled his eyes and sighed. "Deimos, don't you think you're, I dunno… overdoing it?"

"Oh, come on, Hank, I don't know why you're so worried 'bout the money. I mean, we already have a shit load in the bank, and we get paid 10K a week anyway by the Higher Powers! This small _investment_ will pay off when the time comes, I promise!"

Hank slumped into his chair, not reassured in the slightest by Deimos's overly-enthusiastic tone. "Jebus, you better be right or I'll-"

"Alright! I knew you'd say yes! But first we gotta cover some ground rules."

Sanford shot his partner a quizzical look. "Ground rules?"

"Yeah. For starters," Deimos said, "We don't make any corpses. No kills..."

He turned to Hank, his voice slightly accusatory. "...at all."

Hank furrowed his brow and Sanford began to voice protest, but Deimos continued over them. "If we do kill those bastards, we're not gonna make a better image of ourselves. We'll be the same old murderers again and this would all end up being a waste."

"In that case, mister mastermind, how do we get rid of them?" Hank asked.

Deimos grinned, as if he were anticipating that question. "We can't kill 'em… but we _can_ hurt them. Shooting guys in the legs or arms or knocking people unconscious is okay, just as long as we don't make any bodies. Don't hit an artery too, obviously."

"Subdue… for how long, exactly?" Sanford inquired.

"Long enough for the cops to haul their collective asses to jail." Deimos answered, confident beyond belief.

Hank shook his head. "This is impractical. Killing people is what we do. What you're suggesting makes everything a tactical nightmare, Deimos."

Deimos turned to Hank. "It's the only way. Unless you wanna go for some low-level community service jobs like cleaning up the park."

Cleaning the park? Perhaps that would be a better solution; at least they wouldn't be getting shot at and-

"That was sarcasm, Hank." Deimos bluntly remarked.

Hank's scowl deepened.

Deimos glanced away from Hank, to Sanford. It was clear as day that the both of them weren't all into the idea, but there was no other alternative… right?

So he made the decision for them.

"Alrighty! It's settled. Let's go to Dead Nevada."

Deimos stood, rolled up the map and wedging it in his pocket. Sanford stood up slowly, a bit nervous about the risky plan, while Hank just folded his arms and glared murderously. Deimos left to pack the cash into a briefcase, conscientiously ignoring the man's signature death stare.

"Oh, and by the way," Deimos spoke again, "You two should pack sidearms and maybe brass knuckles. We might need 'em where we're going."

Sanford pushed away from the table and followed Deimos. He paused for a second, nervously glancing at Hank before leaving to gather his equipment.

Hank uncrossed his arms and made another exasperated sigh.

"Fucking shit…"

* * *

 _"Dead Nevada"_ was the part of Nevada that no one sane dared to enter. Crime was bad enough in the Nevada metropolis, but crime in Dead Nevada was far more rampant; officers were often attacked by the many criminal syndicates which made residence there. Countless illegal organizations sprang from these dilapidated ruins, turning apartment complexes and storage warehouses into fortified HQ buildings.

Essentially, it was impossible for civilization to grow there, hence its name.

The namewas well chosen - for the last decade, its sole inhabitants were reanimated zombies. These abominations, along with other horrific experiments coming from the Nexus Laboratories, had laid waste to this part of Nevada. It took years to clear out the corpses, and the fetid air was still rank with the stench of rotting flesh.

As a result, since no lawful, proper citizen dared to settle in Dead Nevada, it now crawled with criminal activity.

As Hank, Sanford, and Deimos marched through the grimy neighborhood, every building around them seemed to be on the verge of collapse; the streets were dirty and littered with garbage and haggard men and women staring from the side of the street. Men and women who looked either homeless or ready to pick the pockets of anyone who passed by.

Likely, both.

Taking Deimos's advice, Hank and Sanford were armed with brass knuckles over the fists hidden in their overcoats, which concealed the holsters at their belts. They had also followed Deimos's advice about traversing on foot rather than by car; the possibility of getting carjacked seemed too likely, given their surroundings.

The trio walked 10 miles to reach the dark neighborhood. The extra exercise didn't bother them, as one would expect - each of the operatives had extensive training to gain their current superhuman endurance. It _was_ tedious, however.

Finally, after what seemed like _hours_ of walking, they found themselves in front of their destination. _Langstone Bar_ read the battered sign on the top of the building, hanging on with nothing but a rusty nail.

Deimos whispered to his two companions, "Guys, make sure you can draw your guns easily. Shit could hit the fan at any moment."

Both Hank and Sanford nodded in response, undoing their coats as they stepped inside. The walls were smothered with grime, making the sickly red wallpaper look even worse.

As was expected, they drew attention from the very beginning, whispers beginning to float through the air around them.

"The fuck? Is that really them?"

"Seems like it."

"Whoo wee… holy shit, why are _they_ here…? They're not the kind of people I'd make friends with."

"Yeah. Heard from a buddy of mine though… that bastard in the middle," A customer told his friends, nodding at Hank, "Yeah, he ripped some guy's heart right outta his chest. And I don't mean that in like a metaphorical, gay way."

"You're fucking kidding me, right? Let's get the hell outta here!"

The customers hastily exited the bar, making sure to avoid touching the trio. Letting his pride get the better of him, Hank couldn't help but grin slightly under his mask. Three years, and his legacy still lived on strong.

His smile faded as soon as he realized his "legacy" was the reason why he was out here in the first place.

Within seconds, there remained only drunkards, gamblers, and those who just didn't give a damn about the three killers. The rapid exodus served to help Deimos identify their contact.

Deimos stepped forward to speak; his and the contact's voice were inaudible to Hank and Sanford. Hank released his tension once his partner and the stranger began to laugh, and Deimos signaled him. The man's strangely green eyes glinted as he smiled good-naturedly, swirling a drink in one hand and waving with the other.

"So these are your friends? You don't need to introduce them to me. I came from out of town, but word passes around quickly. Hank, I presume? Sanford?" The man asked, as they shook hands.

"Hey guys, this is Augustus. Augustus Reeds." Deimos said. "I met him some time ago, when he moved here, and he told me he knew some… _things_ that could be of value to us."

"A pleasure to meet you! Now, then," Augustus continued, rubbing his fingers together, "Where's the, you know… the goods?"

Deimos placed the briefcase he had been carrying the entire trip onto the table. "Voila."

Augustus raised his eyebrows and nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent! You've gotten me interested. This way, gentlemen."

Without another word, Augustus led them to the back door of the bar. As they exited, Augustus locked and barred the door behind them. He checked every possible angle and made a cursory examination of some hiding spots: ensuring that no one was spying on them, making sure there were no hidden recording devices. He then snapped his fingers, and one of the haggard beggars on the street snapped to attention, a gun suddenly held in his hands, watching for potential eavesdroppers.

Confirming that the area was secure, Augustus turned around to face them.

"How much?" he whispered.

"Lots," Sanford grunted.

"Try 2 thousand," Hank added.

Augustus tangibly relaxed, resuming his easy grin once again.

"Yes, yes...excellent."

"In addition," Deimos continued, "We're willing to give a 50 percent bonus if your intel was valid."

Augustus whistled in appreciation. "Perfect! Dare I say it? An _irresistible_ deal! Alright, friend, what do you want from Uncle Augustus?"

"Gangs. Give us some crews we could hit." Deimos replied.

Augustus rolled his eyes in thought, then nodded. "Sure. Map, please."

Deimos gave him one. Almost immediately, Augustus pointed at a specific building on the thin piece of paper.

"I heard from a little bird that this warehouse, not too far from our current location, is the stomping grounds for this small-time gang called the Nevada Devils convene the first Tuesday of each month, I think. Otherwise, they're scattered across Nevada doing their bank robberies, muggings and whatever else they can think of. This is your chance to wipe them all out in one swift stroke."

Hank narrowed his eyes. "Hold up. Today's the first Tuesday of the month. Does that mean..."

Augustus nodded. "You're going to have to wait a whole month again just to take them down, unless you guys hustle. You're lucky you decided to speak with me now, otherwise this opportunity may have been long gone. Given the number of trucks and extrapolating from the number of gunmen milling around outside… there should be twelve, maybe fifteen guys inside."

Sanford shifted nervously. He didn't like standing here as much as his companions did.

"When do we hit them? What time?"

Augustus turned to Sanford. "Unsurprisingly, the gang meets at midnight. The Devils know that the streets are mostly deserted by then. In other words..." Augustus glanced at his gold-plated watch. "... It's a quarter past seven, so you've got 5 hours to prepare. "

Deimos nodded. "Thanks."

Augustus chuckled and waved it off. "No need for thanks, just making business. Run along, now. Uncle Augustus eagerly awaits your return."

Augustus snapped his fingers. Deimos guessed that it was some implicit signal for the briefcase, so he handed over the leather container and made a quick exit, Sanford closely following him. Hank, however, lingered, taking a final glance at Augustus' face.

Augustus locked eyes, almost as if they were having a stare-off.

"Hank? Why're you just standing there? C'mon, let's go!" Sanford called over his shoulder.

"Coming." Hank called back, still maintaining eye contact.

The killer slowly turned and walked away, leaving Augustus to silently gaze on him as he followed his two partners.

* * *

Hank checked his gear. It had been a while since the last time he had geared up for battle, or had any deadlines, for that matter. Last time he checked, Sanford was wrapping his hook's lethal edges with tape, preventing the weapon from accidentally killing anyone. Judging from Sanford's efficient and quick motions, it was clear that he was eager to get into the fight.

With a sigh, Hank finished off his preparations, slipping several spare magazines for his Beretta 92FS and carefully sheathing his iconic katana. As he did so, he saw Sanford stroll past his door, hook in one hand and revolver in the other. He stopped and leaned on the doorframe, whistling a cheerful tune.

"How's prep, Hank?" Sanford asked.

Hank ignored him and checked his mental clock - 22:58 and forty seven seconds. Deimos was nowhere in sight.

Hank replied with another question: "Where's Deimos?"

"Deimos? He said he was buying some extra stuff for the raid." Sanford told him.

Hank raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? Why wasn't I informed of this?"

"I thought you knew. He told the both of us while we were walking back. Besides, it's not like you have anything important to buy, do you?" Sanford explained.

Hank shrugged, hiding his frustration. Truth be told, the ex-killer was more concerned about the encounter with Deimos's 'informant.' An uncomfortable feeling pumped through his veins while he was there. Hank had learned to always trust his instincts; they had saved his life many times before, and in the bar, they were screaming: "Ambush!"

"... Sanford?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"Didn't you feel a bit, you know… off? Back at the bar?"

Sanford made an exasperated sigh. "Hank, we were in the worst part of Nevada in a room full of people who could've attacked us at any moment. I'm no psychologist, but I'm pretty sure a _bit_ of suspicion is normal."

Hank rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not talking about the other customers there. They could've shot at us for all I cared. Would've just given me an excuse to bash all their skulls in. I meant, that guy Deimos met, Augustus. Something just seemed wrong about _him_."

"Hank, I think you're just overreacting."

"Think about it, Sanford. Augustus came from out of state, so how does he know our names? Most of all, how does he know where the gangs stay, and when? It doesn't add up."

"Well, maybe Augustus is just really good at what he does. And it's not exactly that hard to point out the three most feared men in Nevada, given our reputations. Pretty sure the whole country knows about us by now, so come on. Trust Deimos, you said you would before, just this once. Right?"

"You're honestly starting to sound like him and his sickening optimism."

"I'm a bit excited myself, I will admit." Sanford tapped at Hank's shoulder with the back of his hand, grinning. "Let's go have some fun."

Hank knew himself well enough to know when he was overreacting or over-analyzing a situation for no good reason.

He was confident this wasn't one of those times.

Before he could reply or even finish his thoughts, Deimos burst through the front door, carrying a black plastic bag.

"You're pretty damn late, kid. That purchase had better been important!" Sanford called out, a hint of curiously in his voice.

Deimos pulled out 5 large padlocks, along with a fistful of zipties. "It'll pay off, trust me. These babies will help us trap the sorry bastards we run into. We can't just leave them lying on the ground with the chance to get us from behind after all. Also..."

Deimos pulled out a satchel of smoke and flash grenades.

"... these I got from some dudes still working at the ol' Anti-AAHW, Antithesis Agency HQ. They're practically giving this stuff out since they don't need it anymore. Only cost like... two grand."

"'Only cost like two grand,' he says…" Sanford muttered as he rolled his eyes, walking out from his room, "You keep spending money like that, Deimos and we'll be evicted before you can say 'just another week'."

"Shut up, San. You can just go suck dick for money and we'll be fine!"

"I'll cut off yours and sell it on the black market a trillion years before that happens. I heard virgins amp up the price, too."

"Uh, no. They'd amp up the price just cause it's me!"

"That's right, you fucking moron."

Hank stood, performing a quick stretching routine as his other two roommates continued to crack jokes nearby. He then closed his eyes and cleared his mind of all thought, preparing to focus on the battle to come. After a moment, his eyes snapped open.

"Deimos, you got what you wanted. Now get your stuff and move. The sooner we get this done, the better."

* * *

Sanford, Deimos, and Hank hoofed it to Dead Nevada. They covered the ten miles in around fifty-five minutes, though Sanford and Deimos struggled to keep pace with Hank.

''Fifty five minutes for ten miles. Damn it, I'm getting slow..." Hank muttered to himself.

The three men made their way to the Nevada Devils hideout. They were all decked out head to toe in black infiltration outfits, making it harder for any _undesirables_ to catch them amidst the dark.

Sanford and Deimos paused for thirty seconds to catch their breath, while Hank proceeded to scout out the entrance. He promptly returned, a ghost among the darkness.

"We have two guards in the front. Armed, light armor. They look too tough for common criminals… so I'm guessing the Nevada Devils hired some mercs."

Sanford slipped on a balaclava, covering everything on his face save his eyes. He replied to Hank's analysis, his voice muffled. "Course of action?"

Hank ran through their tactical options and came up with a prompt solution.

"Ah hah… Deimos, on my signal, distract. Give us some time to climb."

"Climb what?" Sanford asked.

Hank pointed at the fire escape on the side of the building. Sanford nodded, gave his hook a couple experimental whirls, and tossed it onto the railing. It clinked quietly into place, and hand over hand, he ascended his rope.

"Come on, Hank, why don't I get a fun part?" Deimos griped.

"Because you dragged us here in the first place. Get to your positions."

Hank waited until Deimos was just around the corner, then turned to Sanford.

"Just like old times, eh Hank?" Sanford whispered.

Hank nodded in agreement, and they snuck around the building, swift and silent in the moonlight shadow.

* * *

Deimos waited expectantly...and there it was, a dull glint of metal. That was the signal.

He greeted the guards, extending his arms to the side to show that he was unarmed. He tried to muster as obnoxiously affable a tone as he could.

"Whassup? What's this? A party? Yo, bouncer bro, can I join in?"

One of the guards instantly had Deimos in his sights. "Are you a goddamned idiot? What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

The other guard's voice was gruff.

"Meeting the _friendly_ locals." Deimos replied, slightly pouting. "What's the matter? Someone in there's waiting for me, yeah?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. You're coming with us." The guard and his partner stepped forward and seized Deimos's arms. Just as planned though, a pair of heavy, black objects landed behind the guardsmen.

Hank and Sanford locked gazes for a split second just before wordlessly nodding to each other. Hank snaked his arm around a guard's neck while Sanford smashed the butt of his pistol into the other guard's helmet. After a while, Hank's guard stopped struggling.

"Took you guys long enough," Deimos muttered, already feeling for the guards' pulses. He sighed in relief. "They're alive. Good. Let's toss them in those dumpsters."

Hank and Sanford confiscated the weapons the guards carried and hauled their bodies to the indicated location. Deimos set the password for the 4-digit lock and placed it between the dumpster's lock-holder after he had closed the top.

"I didn't know dumpsters in Nevada had lock-holders." Sanford quipped.

"It's a new government initiative or something," Deimos replied. "Every dumpster they make comes with it just to make sure the homeless don't go rummaging through the trash. You know, to prevent them from accidentally ingesting shit and getting cholera."

Sanford shook his head. "We live in a society too cheap to give the poor some trash."

Deimos laughed mirthlessly. "God bless Nevada."

"What's the number on the lock?" Hank asked Deimos, changing the subject.

"It's Leet as in Leet." Deimos answered, only to be answered with confused stares from his partners.

"...It's 1-3-3-7. For fuck's sake, are you guys stupid or something?"

"Well excuse me, Deimos. I'm _so_ sorry that neither of us can translate your nerdspeak. Unlike you, we haven't spent half of our lifespan staring at a screen," Sanford said.

Deimos glared back. "You're the one to talk! I can sorta get why Hank might not understand, but you were with me while we were spies inside of the AAHW, Sanford! You should fucking know what 'leet' is, considering that we had to work under them for so long!"

"Deimos, do you honestly think I remember that shit _years_ ago?"

"Well you should, considering how many times we had it drilled into our head-"

"Can you two please _not_ do this? Especially while we're on a mission?" Hank interrupted.

Sanford sighed. "So be it."

"Fine, hmph!" Deimos said. He spun the lock's dial a few degrees just for safe measures.

Sanford chuckled. "I'd hate to smell what they're smelling right now."

"Want to join them? I think you'd fit in _very_ nicely." Deimos mocked, the irritation in his voice from the previous argument still lingered.

"How 'bout you go on ahead? Ladies first, right?"

"You-!"

"Shut up and focus!" Hank snapped again.

Deimos and Sanford pulled out their firearms. Now came the tricky part.

* * *

Half a second after entry, the trio snuck in and hid behind some flipped-over tables. Deimos advanced to a pile of wooden crates peered at the three guards they were hiding from, then gestured for the rest of the team to follow.

"Well? What'd you see?" Sanford had snuck into position alongside Deimos, whispering urgently.

"Three guards. One with a pistol, another with a nightstick, and the third with an assault rifle. I think the pistol guy has light body armor and a helmet too, but these are based on silhouettes. Too dark to really get into any specifics." Deimos answered.

"Are you _really_ sure we can't kill anyone, Deimos?" Hank asked - the urge to dash in and slice the men in half was rather strong inside him.

"One-hundred percent sure." Deimos confirmed.

Hank grunted, letting his sword slip back into his sheath with a _click_. "Damn… that limits our options, doesn't it? What do we do now? I'm not very into the idea of sitting here for the next few hours."

"We could lure one of them here with a sound." Sanford suggested.

"Woof, woof!" Deimos took the idea up with gusto.

Hank grabbed Deimos from behind, covering his mouth with one hand.

"Are you fucking crazy!?" He whispered harshly as he pulled on Deimos's left ear with the other hand.

Sanford looked at Deimos. "That was, hands down, the most retarded dog imitation I've ever heard. Seriously, only an idiot would fall for that."

"Well-"

"Hey… didja hear that?" one of the thugs said, cutting off Deimos' explanation.

"Yeah, mebbe it's a dog," another thug replied.

Hank frowned, keeping his hand over Deimos's mouth to stifle the techie's laughter. If the three of them ever wondered whether or not there could be anyone on the planet more clueless than AAHW Grunts... well, they had an answer to that question now.

"Hmm...didn't really sound like a dog though," the third guard argued.

The second thug answered, after thinking for a good thirty seconds. "I gots it! It gotta be a retarded dog!"

Sanford held in his own chuckles, while Deimos rolled his eyes, defiantly flipping him off. Even Hank couldn't help but make a small grin under his mask.

"O'Brien, go check it out," the third said.

"What? Wait, why me?!" The second voice complained.

"Well, 'cause you're the new guy, see? Now move b'fore I slap a bitch!" The third yelled.

"Wait a sec. Are ya talking about the dog over there or me-?"

"MOVE IT!"

O'Brien groaned, muttering cuss words as he started to walk over. Hearing his footsteps, Hank and Sanford stopped their snickers and braced themselves. Deimos peeked through a slit between crates, checking up on the guard coming for them.

"That's the one with the nightstick," he confirmed.

Sanford nodded in acknowledgement.

"Leave him to me," Hank ordered in a whisper.

The guard approached all the way until he was right in front of Hank. Hank grabbed O'Brien's pant leg, yanking hard. The thug fell with a surprised yelp, falling on his back and bouncing his head against the hard concrete. He dropped his weapon and Hank snatched it out of the air, tossing it to Deimos, who was in need of a melee weapon alongside his dual G36 rifles.

Deimos grabbed the body and pulled it behind the crates in an attempt to lure the other two gangsters. He had a plan, and those two thugs were too close together for it to work.

Meanwhile from the other end, the two other guards stood aghast. It looked as if the rookie had, for no reason, slipped, fell on dry concrete, and was possessed by a ghost dragging him behind the crates in front of them.

"The _fuck_ just happened?" The third asked the first.

"I dunno. Mebbe someone's there. Mebbe the dog's a ninja dog," the first answered.

"Mebbe, mebbe not… whatever it is, I wanna kill it. You go ahead, an' I'll cover your ass," the third commanded.

The first nodded and hefted his pistol while the third held his rifle to his shoulder, aiming for the crates, his finger hovering a hair's breadth from the trigger.

Deimos turned to Hank and Sanford and whispered his own plan. Hank flashed a thumbs up for approval and they dispersed. Deimos stayed behind the crates and hastily screwed a suppressor onto the muzzle of one of his assault rifles.

Sanford flanked the right, stealthily approaching from the plentiful cover, as Hank slid to the left, avoiding the flickering illumination of the lone incandescent light bulb, invisible in the shadows.

Then, without warning, Deimos popped out from behind the wooden crates and fired a short, controlled burst from his assault rifle. The G36 emitted muffled clicks as it spat out a trio of rounds, shattering the light bulb on the ceiling, immediately plunging the room into total darkness. The thugs yelled in surprise and fired wildly, their shocked faces illuminated by the muzzle flash of their guns...

...which gave their positions away to Hank and Sanford.

Deimos was already sneaking away from the crates that were now peppered with bullet holes. The thug with the rifle was too focused staring down his ironsights to notice Sanford sneaking in from the side. With two powerful strides, Sanford closed the distance, yanked the gun from the man's grasp, and slammed its butt into the thug's face, instantly knocking him out.

The first thug turned towards his fallen partner, exposing his back to the shadows. Hank immediately exploded from the darkness, smashing his sheathed katana onto the gangster's helmet. The victim drowsily staggered forwards before unceremoniously collapsing, dropping his gun on the floor with a _clatter_.

Hank completely ignored the man he had just brutally attacked and rubbed his ungloved fingertips along his katana's scabbard. His hand stopped; Hank narrowed his eyes and growled.

"Damnit! That fucking asshole's helmet scratched my scabbard!" He griped, kicking at the unconscious body in frustration.

"Hank, hold it! We want him _alive_!" Deimos warned. Hank huffed in annoyance and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

Deimos rifled through their unfortunate victims' pockets, policing and redistributing their weapons. He tossed Hank the rifle, an M4 carbine, and slipped the M1911 into his backpack, noting the sidearm's chrome finish and lacquered mahogany grip. In a moment of curiosity, Deimos couldn't help but wonder who the lowly criminal had murdered to get his hands on such a high-quality firearm.

"Now what?" Sanford asked, interrupting Deimos' thoughts.

Hank looked around and saw a storage closet nearby and carelessly pointed at it with his gun. "We toss them in there."

Sanford and Deimos acknowledged Hank's order, and moments later, the gangsters were crammed and sealed inside the closet.

Sanford wiped his sweaty palms on his sleeve and adjusted his bandana. "Jebus, that was tiring. How many of them are left?"

Deimos looked at Sanford. "Around ten, I think. Remember Augustus' briefing?"

Sanford sighed in frustration. Hank on the other hand, hit the release on his rifle and checked the remaining ammunition in the magazine. After visually confirming a sufficient twenty-three rounds, he deftly slapped the mag back in, a round already chambered from all the earlier gunfire.

"We aren't going to get anything done if you just keep bitching about it. Let's go," he remarked decisively.

Sanford stared at Hank for a minute, puzzled since Hank was the originally unenthusiastic about the idea. As Deimos swapped out mags for his rifle and inventoried their gear, Sanford whispered to Hank.

"You seem to go into the idea now, Hank."

"I suppose. It's a bit better that blankly staring at a TV while you guys-"

" _I_ think it's more than that Hank." Sanford interjected.

"Really?"

Sanford shrugged. "Well, maybe you're concerned that we might go and get ourselves killed, yeah? That Deimos and I will make some stupid mistake and end up hanging on the lamp post outside? So you want to take matters into your own hands… maybe to _protect_ us, am I right?"

"Don't push your luck, Sanford. We're not 'buddies.' Pretty sure we made that clear on Day One."

Sanford stared at Hank for a few more seconds, waiting for any reaction aside from the cold one he just received. Once he saw Hank stand and walk off in the opposite direction though, Sanford returned to Deimos; the techie seemed to be too busy ensuring that the supply closet would hold their three latest attackers while keeping watch, making sure that the bandits wouldn't launch an ambush.

Hank walked on, deep in thought. He mulled over options in his head, then set them aside for later. Now was not the time for sorting emotions out.

Hank cracked his knuckles. These criminals were all up past their bedtimes. It was time for them to go to sleep.

And they would likely wake with some magnificent headaches.

* * *

(Original) A/N: Oh my fucking god. That was a huge chapter. It was literally about 3,000 words! I hope none of you got bored reading it. This is where a lot of the action will begin, and it's going to be hard for me to describe it action-by-action. Nevertheless, I'm more concerned with making this story sound like it actually could happen. I'm not leaving it as incomplete though. This is probably the only Madness Combat fanfic out there that will have as many chapters as I will write. Still not changing the plot. Everything that happens, happens for a specific reason. Anyways, R&Rs are appreciated. Good night, and see you in chapter 6.

* * *

(New) A/N: ...Jesus fucking Christ. If only my past self two years ago can see my chapters now. 3,000 words would be disgraceful compared to the amount I'm writing now…

...Anyways, I'm really happy with how the edits are going so far! There's a lot more definition to the characters from my original version! Hopefully the edits turn out to be as successful as the ones so far!

Not much to say, other than my old Author's Notes still embarrass the living shit out of me. It's like reading something you wrote...four years ago.

Welp, I'll be working on the next chapter in the meantime! Special thanks again to Alias-Maxima and Sacrom! Also, a new editor has joined the team! Ladies and gents, I'd like you to welcome MCG, who will be helping me out on getting some chapters up faster! :D

See you guys later, and here's some short final words from Sacrom and MCG!

* * *

Sacrom's A/N: Ha! Silly Spirit. Is just exercise if compared to Hank's Legacy! Hope you enjoyed the polished story, comrades, and have a wonderful day!

MCG: edited some more gun nerd stuff, a round would already be chambered if the gun was fired :U

* * *

Onwards to the Changelog!

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ :

1 - Project Nexus was now referenced to in Dead Nevada. Just fits well, you know?

2 - Execution of the initial part of the raid was changed too. Sneaky, sneaky.

3 - More description added.

4 - Grammatical errors removed.

5 - Narration and dialogue improved.

6 - Diction enhanced.

7 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

As always, we hope you enjoyed this new chapter of Final Salvation. See ya'll in the next. :)

~Spirit


	6. Opportunity

Chapter 6: Opportunity

* * *

"Hey, Deimos, how's the inventory check?" Sanford asked.

Deimos rummaged in his backpack with one hand while counting off numbers with the other. "Hank's got an M4, a katana, and his Beretta 92FS. I have right here my G36s, a nightstick, this 1911 showpiece, and a Glock 17. Unless you've picked up some stuff while I wasn't looking, you're sticking with your hook and your shiny-ass Colt revolver. Add that with a few flashbangs and smoke 'nades, along with four padlocks.

Deimos zipped up his pack, looped it around one arm, and tossed it over his back. "Also got some extra 9mm and 5.56 rounds in my pack, if Hank and I ever need to refill our mags."

Sanford whistled in appreciation. "Fully loaded and ready to kill. Just like old times..."

"...'cept we're not allowed to _kill_ this time around." Deimos corrected.

The techie made a slight hand gesture towards Hank, who was leaning on the wall and staring at the ground. "What's up with Hank? He looks pissed."

Sanford made a dismissive wave. "It's fine. You know Hank; IQ of 200, bet a lot of crap runs around in his head. That and, well… he _always_ looks pissed."

Deimos accepted Sanford's response. He roved his eyes around the room, raising his eyebrows, enunciating his thoughts. "Place is even bigger than I expected. I guess that means we have more room to flank them. Then again, that also means we'll be just as easily flanked, so-"

"If this place is so big, we'd better get moving, right? No point in sitting around and sipping tea like this." Sanford interjected. "Hank, you coming or not?"

Hank blinked and stood, uncrossing his arms. He wordlessly strode to his comrades, his expression implicitly answering Sanford's question.

"Uh… okay then! Let's go-o-o… this way." Deimos said, pointing at random to a nearby entryway.

Sanford took point, hook in one hand, revolver in the other. He slipped into the room, flashing 2 fingers to signal that there were two guards up ahead.

Unfortunately, one of them turned towards a vending machine, catching a glimpse of Sanford standing in the doorway.

"Ay, whadda hell you doin'?"

Without any hesitation, Sanford hurled his hook, flinging it with such strength and dexterity that even the taped and blunted end knocked him out cold. Hank surged forth, closing the distance with inhuman swiftness, and bashed his sheathed katana into the the other thug's face, following up the brutal attack with a precision pressure-point strike.

The second guard's eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the floor in a heap. Silence reigned once more.

Sanford flashed a thumbs-up. Deimos advanced and policed their weapons as Hank and Sanford shoved both unarmed men into one of many voluminous packing crates.

Deimos grinned as he taped the large box closed. "That was great! We're making progress!"

Hank smirked under his mask. "Did you honestly expect any less?"

* * *

The trio climbed a set of stairs, fingers hovering over their triggers as they stealthily advanced, cover from cover. They approached a gangster who guarded a door, his hand already gripping a Glock not unlike Deimos'.

"Check this shit out." Deimos whispered. He cleared his throat, straightened his jacket, and sauntered forth, emanating an aura of authority.

The man at the door paused and half-raised his gun, unsure as to what to do.

Deimos slapped him in the face.

"Hey! Show some r'spect fo' your betters, kid! Point that gun somewhere else!"

The thug nervously holstered his gun and stood at attention. Apparently, Deimos had done a superb job at emulating a gangster's speech.

"S… sorry, man, just heard somethin' fishy in that room next door...sounded awful lot like our guys getting beat up. And gunshots, yeah?"

"Naw, they just bein' dumbasses. One o' them knocked over the vending machine again."

"Oh, uh… a'ight. If ya say so...sir."

Deimos clapped his hand on the thug's shoulder, causing him to flinch. "Hey, know by any chance where da boss at?"

The thug stiffened and raised his eyebrows. "Shit, you's the VIP?! Oh man, oh man… wait a sec? It was ... O'Neill, yeah?"

Deimos smiled and decided to play along. "Yeah, brudda. D'as me."

"Yea, man, in dis hood we call 'im 'Boss-man.' He dis way..." The man pointed at the door he was guarding. When he turned back to face Deimos however, he began squinting.

Without warning, he whipped out a shiv, shoving it point-first at Deimos' face.

"Hey, you ain't O'Neill! O'Neill's a _chick_!" He shouted, spittle flying into Deimos' face.

Deimos stiffened. He heightened his tone in a flimsy attempt to fix the flaw.

" _Oh, uh… I just have a sore throat, tee-hee?"_

The guard wasn't convinced. He snarled, pressing his shiv against Deimos' neck. "Boss-man's gonna promote me real good when I rip yo-"

Deimos made a gesture from behind his back. A gunshot rang out, and a bullet ripped through the thug's knee.

"AARGH! S… sonnuva..." he moaned as he knelt down, the shiv clattering to the ground. Deimos recovered quickly and knocked him out with a clenched fist.

"Good shot, San." Deimos praised, "But 'boss-man' probably knows we're here now."

"' _Tee-hee?_ '" Sanford asked, shaking his head as he lowered his still-smoking revolver. "Really, Deimos? What the hell were you trying to do? Convince the guy that you're some stone-cold G, or imitate Shirley Temple?"

Deimos disarmed the man, preparing to drag him into a hiding spot by the arm. "Oh please, Sanford. You know I would've come up with a more convincing setup if I knew O'Neill was a _she_."

"Like what? Were you going to stick two stun grenades up your shirt to make your chest less flat or something?"

"The fuck? Of course not, you dumbass. I would've used _grapefruits_ , duh. You need a rounder, fuller shape. Anyways, who the fuck has cylindrical boobs?"

"Jebus, Deimos. Sometimes I worry about you…"

Hank started for the door. Deimos dropped the body, soliciting a groan from the unconscious criminal.

"Whoa, Hank. Aren't we gonna hide this guy?" Deimos asked.

"Sanford just shot his kneecap. Cripples can't run." Hank succinctly answered.

Deimos had his reply ready on his lips. "But what if someone else finds him here? What if he tells 'em what happened?"

Hank turned to face him. "Deimos, the gang leader is this way, and by stubbornly arguing with me, you're letting him slip further and further away. You're wasting time, so stop messing around and let's just get this shit over with."

Sanford nodded as he loaded a bullet into his cylinder after ejecting his only empty casing. "I'm locked, loaded, and ready when you are."

Deimos shrugged. "Well… alright, then. Double time!"

The three rapidly advanced up the stairwell, with Deimos taking point and Sanford acting as their rearguard. Since he was unfamiliar with the building's design, Deimos was ambushed by a gangster with a metal bat who sprang from a maintenance room with a bellow of rage.

Only Deimos' reflexes saved his skull.

"Hank, Sanford!" Deimos yelled as he vaulted over the thug's over-eager swing and bounded back on his feet, still running.

As Hank passed by, he didn't even stop running to engage the gangster; instead, he swung his nightstick and intercepted the bat, disarming him with a deft flick of the wrist. The gangster gaped in shock as he stepped back, hands raised in surrender, but Hank had already dashed off.

Before the gangster could even breathe a sigh of relief, Sanford followed up, smashing his fist into the thug's face. The gangster sprawled on the floor, out cold. Sanford paused momentarily to admire his handiwork - "Cool." - before continuing his sprint.

Deimos kicked down the door to the next room and leaped into action, catching his foes by surprise. Two gang members came out from the other side, guns half out of their holsters. Deimos calmly shouldered his G36 and, with pinpoint precision, placed a shot in each of the leftmost gangster's elbows - he screamed, stumbling backwards.

"AIEE!" the gangster collapsed, writhing in pain.

His partner returned fire, spraying wild bursts from his AK-74 and forcing Deimos to duck behind some packing crates. Hank sidestepped into the room and jumped, flipping in the air and landing right in front of the thug.

Hank grabbed the gun barrel and forced it away, seizing the front of his foe's shirt and slamming him against the wall.

"You...you're-!" The gangster squeaked, trembling in fear.

"The one and only. Don't wear it off." Hank growled, as he headbutted the guard into unconsciousness.

Hank took a deep breath, idly nudging the body with his boot as his adrenaline subsided. He would already be at home with a mug of coffee in front of the television had Deimos given him clearance to kill.

 _'Damn Deimos and his half-assed ideas,'_ Hank thought, ' _If we weren't this skilled, we'd be face-down in a ditch right about now-'_

Deimos snapped his fingers to get Hank's attention. "Earth to Hank? This door's locked; got any solutions?"

"This has to be it then," Sanford reasoned, "The leader has to be in here; they probably set up a barricade, or maybe they're waiting to shoot us to bits."

"A welcoming party? Neat. How do we get in?" Deimos asked, turning his gaze towards Hank in search of answers.

"How about the vents?" Sanford suggested, pointing upwards at the vent cover. "I could use my hook and-"

"No." Hank immediately responded. "They'll see and hear us coming from a mile away. We need to catch them with their pants down."

Hank stepped to and fro, deep in thought. Rather suddenly, he sharply inhaled. Hank looked up and pulled a stun grenade from his back pocket.

"You know, on one of my missions, I learned a rather...useful skill. Give me your stun grenades."

"All of them?" Deimos inquired.

"Yes."

Deimos and Sanford looked quizzically at him, but Hank simply frowned, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Well, hand 'em over!" Hank sneered.

* * *

"Boss-man" sat behind his desk, a gold-plated revolver clenched in his hand. Something seemed off, but he just couldn't quite tell.

"It's too quiet...Sanchez!"

An especially nasty-looking thug stepped forwards. "Yeah, Boss-man?"

"Make sure you're ready to fuck up whoever comes through that door!"

Sanchez grunted in assent, hefting his light machine gun with utter confidence, watching the door for even the slightest movement.

* * *

"Cross wires A and...this goes here...hmm..." Hank grunted, adding some additional touches to his contraption.

"Uh, Hank...you sure tampering with explosives like this is safe?" Deimos asked.

"I'm not using them on people, so it doesn't matter." Hank muttered, still tinkering with the components of the flash grenades.

Sanford interjected. "Yeah, But you took the explosive packages of five stun grenades and packed them into one casing. If you aren't lucky, one of these guys could get close enough and the results could be potentially fatal."

Hank stepped up to the locked door and rapped it with his knuckles.

"See this? Three inches of stainless steel, Sanford. Think about it, with that thick skull of yours. Would even a _dozen_ grenades bust this door open? Of course the fuck not. Besides, like you said, these idiots need to be close enough to even cause some permanent damage. Chances are, shit will go our way."

"What kind of mission requires you to bypass the tamper prevention systems on flashbangs?" Deimos asked.

"It's a lot harder to do this when one hand is a giant mutant claw." was Hank's only response.

Sanford cleared his throat, quickly realizing Hank was referring to their final mission against the Auditor. "He did it when you were dead, Deimos."

"Figures," Deimos pouted. "I always miss all the good parts. Damn."

"Done." Hank announced. He slapped his improvised explosive on the wall and ripped out the pin.

Deimos raised his eyebrow as he ducked behind cover. "Hank, that wall leads outside."

"That wall is also made of wood. Sanford, give me your hook." Hank ordered..

Sanford started to voice protest over lending his most prized possession. "But-"

Hank ignored his objection and yanked Sanford's hook from his hands, tying a stun grenade to it. At the same time, Hank's improvised explosive detonated, spewing flaming chunks of wood and splinters every which way and leaving a gaping hole in the wall.

Hank tied one end of the hook's cord to his waist. He swung the hook-grenade and advanced rapidly, waited for five seconds, then yanked the pin and side-armed the hook-grenade into the breach made in the wall. With a decisive tug, he yanked the cord taut.

* * *

 _BOOM!_

"Fuck was that?!" Boss-man exclaimed, half in surprise, half in anger.

"Explosives!" Sanchez yelled, as he regained his balance.

Boss-man seethed in rage. "Rrgh! They're blowing up my crib?! Sanchez, pop open that window and tell me where that explosion was!

Sanchez obeyed, opening up the corrugated-steel covering on the windows and peeking outside. "Looks like that ripped open a hole in the room next door."

Boss-man stood and pulled back the hammer on his revolver. "Perfect! I'm gonna find that motherfucker himself and-"

 _Clink._

Sanford's hook swung in from outside, neatly latching on the windowsill.

Sanchez's eyes widened as he realized what was attached to the hook.

"GRENA-" He yelled.

* * *

"GRENA-" A throaty voice yelled.

 _BAM!_ The distinctive, ear-splitting sound of a flashbang reached Hank's ears.

"Give me thirty seconds!" Hank yelled to his confused compatriots, before hopping out of the breach, gripping the cord tightly.

He used the rope to quickly scale the side of the building. Reaching the windowsill, he nimbly hopped in, one hand brandishing his sheathed katana.

Hank sized up the tactical situation almost instantly. Four hostiles, all of them dazed from the flashbang. One of them was tougher-looking and held a light machine gun. Another, presumably the boss, stood slack-jawed, clearly disoriented from the stun grenade, an ostentatious revolver gripped in his hand.

Hank dashed in, smashing two of the thugs' heads together and hitting the third muscular henchman on the head with his sheathed blade. He hit the big guy two more times, just to make sure he stayed down.

The gang leader finally wore off the shock from the flasbang, shook his head to clear his confusion, and clumsily aimed his pistol at Hank. "Where the fuck didja come from?! Think you can stop me, huh? My boys are gonna be here any second! Give it up!"

Hank smirked and unsheathed his katana; the blade glimmered dully in the dim fluorescent light. The sword had gained infamy among Nevadans, for many fathers and sons had been claimed by its blade. They called it the "Dragon Sword," because the inscribed Thai characters described the actions of the mythical beast perfectly: "Crush, Destroy, Kill."

The Dragon Sword whistled into action in Hank's grip. The crime lord's eyes widened at the sight of the Hank's feared katana, and the grip on his gun wavered. While previously, the Boss was unaware of the identity of his assailant, he now understood who he was facing.

"Drop it!" He screamed, raising his pistol which, for some reason, now felt small and insignificant. "I swear to fucking God I'll blow your brains out!"

Hank took a step forwards, and as promised, the leader fired. A flash of silver; the bullet pinged off the dragon sword, smashing into the roof. With a powerful lunge, Hank surged forth, tackling the man down. He placed the keen edge at the man's neck, planting a knee in his enemy's ribcage.

The gang leader started whimpering in fear. "Wait, Jebus! P-please, don't k-kill me! I'll give you what you want! Money? Drugs? Women? A-anything!"

"You're pathetic." Hank spat, roughly seizing the man's collar.

Hank dragged him towards the door, the sword still pressed against his neck. He slammed the man against the wall and pressed down lightly with his blade, drawing a single bead of blood.

Hank wore a cold mask of impassivity; he had done this sort of thing too many times before to count. The crime lord received the horrifying epiphany that Hank could easily cut through his neck right then and there, quickly and cleanly, without remorse or mercy.

"Open the door." Hank demanded, his voice whisper-quiet and lethal.

Hank's prisoner fearfully complied, accidentally dropping his keys in his hurry. He frantically picked them up and unlocked the door, the sword still pressed against the back of his neck.

Deimos strolled in and whistled, pressing a button on his watch. "Damn, Hank. 35 seconds. You're five slow, but still, not bad at all."

"Would've been 5 seconds faster if this fucker didn't fumble his keys." Hank muttered, shaking Boss-man's collar. "Damn it."

Sanford entered the room, and he was not amused. "Return my hook. Now."

Hank returned Sanford's weapon with a smirk. The leader started sweating even heavier; now, he was apparently facing not only _the_ Hank J. Wimbleton, but the infamous Sanford-Deimos duo as well.

"Wh-what are you two here for?" he asked, with fear in his voice.

"For every inch you move, you lose a limb." Hank warned instead.

"Hey, Sanford, can I borrow some cord?" Deimos asked.

"That'll be five bucks per meter. This shit is expensive."

Deimos wrinkled his brow. "Ugh. Fine. Deal."

Deimos cut a ten-foot length of cord and pushed the boss-man into the chair. He then tied his captive to his seat, finishing off the lashings with an intricate knot.

"Don't move." Deimos lectured Boss-man. "The knot gets tighter the more ya struggle."

Boss-man grunted in frustration. "What...agh, you piece of-!"

"Don't whine. This shit cost me like fifteen bucks. Speaking of which… Hank, Sanford. Can one of ya hand me your bandanas?"

Hank and Sanford eyed each other.

"Rock-paper-scissors, eyes shut." Sanford said. "If we're both looking, it's more of a game of reflexes than chance. One that you'd surely win."

Hank slowly nodded. "True. Bring it on, then."

They closed their eyes and pumped their fists thrice.

Hank opened his eyes first.

"Fucking shit..." he muttered.

Sanford grinned. Once again, he emerged the winner of the rock-paper-scissors match."So, you picked paper, hm? Once again, I emerge as the master of rock-paper-scissors."

Hank snorted, undoing his bandana. "The only thing you can beat me at is a game of chance. Perhaps that says something about our differences in skill. But I'll honor my bargain."

Deimos socked the boss-man in the shoulder. "Hey, scumlord. Start calling for help. Go on, punch in the digits, and get every motherfucker in the building to come to your rescue. Here, let me get your cell phone for you..."

Deimos appropriated the criminal's cell phone from his pocket and set it to speaker.

"Say it!" Hank shouted.

The leader eyed Hank's sword nervously. "Uh...All you boys, get in my office, now. Yo boss needs help."

Deimos chuckled, tying Hank's bandana around the gang leader's mouth to shut him up. Grinning in satisfaction, he then turned to Sanford and Hank.

"We got the bait..." Deimos started.

Sanford nodded. "...what's the switch?"

"Window's locked, then we close the door on 'em. Simple."

Hank raised his eyebrows. "Like rabbits in a cage?"

"Like rabbits in a cage."

"With all due respect, Deimos, isn't that plan a bit too simple? What if we fuck up and they realize our trap before we even set it into action?" Sanford questioned.

"The more time we spend standing here and wondering what will go wrong, the less likely this plan will work." Deimos explained, "Besides, if we engage with the forces coming at us head-on, I can't promise you we'll be able to restrain ourselves from snapping one of their necks."

Hank looked upwards in thought. "For once, you might be right. If I see another one of these uncouth bastards...God give them mercy, because I sure as Hell won't."

Deimos nodded. "We don't have time then. Shit, I think I even hear footsteps. We get out through the entranceway, and hide somewhere close but secure."

Sanford was already huddled behind one of the storage crates in the room. He urgently gestured towards the other crates. "Hurry up, asshole!"

Deimos turned to Hank, only to realize he had seemingly vanished, as if into thin air.

"Aw, fu-" Deimos started, as the opposite door slid open.

Like a swarm of insects, a squad of gangsters charged head-first into the room, neatly parting ways around Deimos, who stood frozen in the doorway. The horde thundered past Deimos as if he didn't exist, but just as it seemed as though standing as a statue would actually work, the last gang member paused, turning to Deimos in confusion.

"Ay...who the fuck are you!?"

Deimos remained perfectly motionless, speaking with as robotic a voice he could muster. "I am a mannequin. Beep Boop."

"Wuh-?"

One of the gangsters popped his head out of the doorway. "Nick, git yo ass in here an' help us free Boss-man! He's stuck in one of these 'double-loopdy' rope-knot-thingers."

He took a good look at Deimos before following suit, helping his struggling comrades to untie their leader.

Deimos turned his head slightly towards the roof, where Hank was dangling from the pipes, and nodded imperceptibly. Hank caught the signal and tossed the keys down. Deimos reached an arm out and snatched the object out of the air...

But "Nick" saw it all. He pointed and boorishly yelled at the top of his voice.

"AY! MANNER-KINS DON'T CATCH STUFF-"

The thick metal door clanged shut before he finished his sentence.

Deimos twisted the key and, just to make sure, barred the door shut. Sanford and Hank helped in creating a makeshift barricade, piling crates onto the doorway. The sound of fists banging on the metal door and panicked shouts was ironically relieving; the last members of the gang had finally been subdued.

Hank landed from the ceiling, cat-like and showing no signs of falter.

"If they weren't utter imbeciles, you'd be dead." Hank told Deimos.

"Thanks." Deimos replied with a wink.

Sanford, on the other hand, was not as docile. Without Hank or Deimos realizing it, the third of the group had popped from behind the crate and grabbed Deimos by the collar in pure rage.

"ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?! SHIRLEY TEMPLE WAS ONE THING, BUT A GODDAMN MANNEQUIN?! WHAT'S NEXT, YOU JUST GONNA DANCE WHILE YOU'RE AT IT?! YOU NEARLY BLEW OUR COVER, YOU DIPSHIT!"

Deimos shrugged. "If it comes to that, then sure." He grinned. "Don't tell me you were actually _worried_ about me, were you?"

Sanford sighed, but only tightened his grip. "Yes, Deimos; I _was_ worried. In fact, just to show you how _worried_ I was, I'll punch your stupid little face in so hard, the doctor won't be able to tell it from your ass."

"Er… I don't see how that's physically possible, San."

"First time to everything."

Hank stepped forth to stop the squabble. "Sort it out at home. What's next, Deimos?"

Deimos took this opportunity to slip out of Sanford's hands, pulling the Boss-man's cell phone out of his back pocket. "We call the cops. Duh."

Hank plucked the device from Deimos's hands. "Joy."

Meanwhile, Sanford kept an eye on the still-shaking metal door while Deimos checked on the other members they haven't locked up. By the time they had secured the perimeter, Hank had finished up on his directions.

"How did it go?" Sanford asked as soon as he saw Hank switch the phone off.

"Let's put it this way; imagine if one of the leading crime-lords in the state called you, the chief of police, at… two in the morning. To exacerbate things, you then hear the voice of your friendly neighborhood serial killer Hank J. Wimbleton on the line, saying that he had just taken down said crime-lord without killing anyone."

"So I assumed it went well?"

Hank rolled his eyes. "Went fantastic, we're having tea and crumpets next weekend, yada yada."

Deimos brightened up, grinning. "Ooh, what kind of tea? Someone could use some chamomile to...how do I say it? Chill the fuck out."

Deimos nodded towards Sanford, who was still fuming.

"Deimos, you little-"

Hank stopped Sanford with a subtle cutting motion, allowing the sound of blaring sirens in the distance to become more audible.

"We're under arrest."

* * *

"... for unlawful entry of an inhabited building, battery, and aggravated assault using blunt force trauma and firearms."

Hank leaned back in his chair, his hands ziptied in front of him. Deimos and Sanford sat to his right and left respectively.

Before Hank could say anything, Deimos cleared his throat and leaned closer.

"Excuse me, sir… say, what was your name again?"

The police chief flashed his badge. "Name's Ben Harley. _Your kind_ , on the other hand, should just stick to calling me _Chief_ Harley."

Deimos nodded in acknowledgement. "Right...Chief Harley. You should let my friends go. It was my plan to start with, to go in and wipe out some of the scum of Nevada-"

"Explanations are unnecessary." Harley cut Deimos off, "I saw the report; the whole gang of 'em, trussed up like hogs on a spit or sleeping like stillborn babies. I didn't believe it 'til I saw it with my own eyes."

"Right, right. But I mean, _I_ was the one who persuaded them into coming with me, so if any of us are going to go to jail-"

Chief Harley laughed. "Oh, so this is what it's about? Don't worry. You aren't going to the brig."

Sanford raised an eyebrow, while Deimos stared, dumbfounded.

Harley clarified his thought process. "I'm not dumb. Throwing you in jail would just make you three mad. And neither of us wants that, am I right? You guys are here because, well, I want to make something clear."

Deimos shook off his surprise. "Go for it," he offered.

"Here's the deal, son. I've been personally hunting those damned Nevada Devils for the last two years. I've never captured one of their street vendors, let alone their leader and his inner circle. But you three just did that in...one and a half hours, was that right?"

Hank responded. "Precisely ninety-four point zero eight minutes."

Harley almost jumped at Hank's sudden speech, but quickly regained his composure.

"...Er, right. What you guys did was good and all, but please don't interfere with police business in the future. You are fully aware that what you did trespassed on the law, so please, consider this a warning. You guys can go now."

Harley gestured to the officers keeping watch, who stepped forth nervously to undo the zipties. Deimos rubbed his chafed wrists, while Sanford clenched and unclenched his fists to get the blood flow going.

Hank, with seemingly no effort, spread his arms and snapped his bindings asunder. He crossed his arms and spoke with conviction. "Now look here, _Ben_ Harley. You know that with our help you can eliminate crime in one of the shittiest shitholes in the U.S. of A. You'll become famous beyond your wildest dreams. Think of the headlines: ' _Nevadan Police Chief Cleans House! America's Most Dangerous City is Safer Than Ever!'._ "

"Don't care about fame? Fine; neither do we. But think of it this way: 'you' have just 'protected' a whole city. And all you did is let us do your job. Sit back and watch, and you can do whatever the hell you want with the criminals we bring in. We're not asking for a lot."

The Chief laid back on his chair, crossing his arms. "No, you _are_ asking for a lot. What makes you think I'd be so lenient on this? As far as I'm concerned, you haven't even given me a motivation as to why you three would be doing _our_ job."

"Isn't it obvious?" Hank leaned in. " _Our_ _kind_ haven't exactly earned the respect of the people. You said it yourself after all."

Harley stared at Hank momentarily, unfazed by the attack on his choice of words. He then turned to his two guards.

"Frank, Oscar; why don't you give me some...'privacy' with these three men here."

The two police officers nodded, however, Harley grabbed Oscar's arm before he could leave, bringing his ear close to his mouth.

" _...And make sure this goes off the record."_

Oscar stared at Harley in silent understanding, quickly catching up with his partner. Once the two men had left the room, Harley stared up at the security camera behind the trio, watching the small red light maintain its glow.

Seconds later, it switched off.

"Okay." Harley straightened his back, repositioning himself into a more relaxed, yet serious, stature. "Let's talk."

Deimos was the first to react, beaming. Was the plan going to work? Would the chief cooperate? Harley set his hands on his desk.

This was it.

"All I want is to keep my men safe and to keep Nevada safe. These are troublesome times, so I need all the help I can get, even if it comes from vigilantes. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure families-"

Hank made a circle in the air with his finger. "Yeah, yeah. Skip the sentimentals and get to the point, Chief."

"Watch it, Wimbleton. You have neither the authority nor the rep to speak to me that way. If you can raid gangs the way you did tonight, then...I suppose we can come up with a compromise that will benefit everyone, minus the criminals we're taking down of course. But you will show no connection to the Nevada police force, or me. You will be operating completely independently."

Much to Sanford's amusement, Deimos squealed like a schoolgirl. "Yes! That's perfect! Thank you, we-!"

"But," The Chief started again.

Deimos's euphoria evaporated instantly and Hank narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

"There are some terms and conditions we must establish first."

* * *

Original A/N: Phew. Number 6 done. 2,800 words. Not bad. I'm glad this story is passing through my head easily though. However, what do you guys think? Do you like how things are turning out so far? Remember, this is a fanfiction, where anything can happen. This isn't the climax of the violence; it's the start. Well, I don't really have much to say other than that, but thanks for reading. Reviews would be nice too. Chapter 7 is coming soon.

* * *

New A/N (12/18/14): Let me just say editing through this entire original story so far (though relieving to touch up on) has been a living Hell. Almost everything makes me want to slam my head with a refrigerator door; the narration, the dialogue, hell even the Author's Note is cringe-worthy. To think two years ago this was me. Holy shit I was too optimistic for my own good...well, then again, I guess if it wasn't for that motivation I wouldn't be here right now, as well as so much support from you guys back then of course.

Huge, HUGE thanks to Alias again. Honestly, out of everyone else in the writing team, he has done the most amount of work and kept us on the rails. I have no clue where I'd be right now if it wasn't for him.

Kudos to Sacrom and MCG also for updating us on weapon specs as well; so nice to see actual brand names than just: "gun," "pistol," "knife," scattered all over the place. In 2012 I could name only one brand of pistols. Now, I can name four (huge change, I know).

Anyways about the story itself; for those of you who read the original version, as you can see, there were quite a number of changes I made in how actions were executed as well as dialogue and such. The general idea is there, but of course the execution was made to seem more gripping and less obviously amateurish.

I'm still debating as to whether or not leave a download link on my profile available of those of you who may actually wish to download the old, original version of my fanfic just for some shits and giggles and also for comparison's sake. If I do decide yes though, then you'll most likely find it on my profile, or I will mention it at the start of Chapter One/future chapters.

I'll stop talking now; let the editors have a turn at it.

Alias: Greetings, comrades!

Spirit has been dying at school, so I do my best to fill in. I'm not some MVP/God/King of Editors that Spirit makes me out to be (I wish). I'm just a guy with too much time on my hands. I concur with Spirit on the gun issue. The sum of my gun knowledge derives from Wikipedia and Project Nexus 1 (sacrilege, I know) so thanks to MCG and Sacrom for doing those. And remember, Spirit was the one who wrote the goddamn story. All I do is tack on some upgrades.

If you want a true God of writing, go and find Nevadan Cleanse, by wafflepudding. That shit is _legendary_.

So...I'm an extremely awkward guy when it comes to author's notes...so I'm going to… stop… talking… now...? Uh… MCG, Sacrom, now would be a good time to-

MCG: I'm the only human on this team. If there's anyone out there, send help.

[12/21/2014 09:20 EST] Sacrom: Wait, did I even work on this chapter? Think I did. If I didn't, honorary author's credit from comrade Spirit is much appreciated. If I did… I hope enjoyed the wonderful things we have done to this here… thing. Sounds a bit cheesy, I know, but work with me.

Let's move into the Changelog then, shall we?

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ :

1 - The trio doesn't use the vents as their means of attacking the gang leader.

2 - No more quadruple jumping for Hank. (Quite frankly I don't even think that's possible even for him…)

3 - Went more into detail about guns (thanks again Sacrom and MCG)

4 - Gave the gangsters some names along with the police officers.

5 - Shirley-Temple impersonation from Deimos. Who wouldn't love it?

6 - Mannequin disguise from Deimos. Iconically Deimos-like. Again, who wouldn't like that?

7 - More description added.

8 - Grammatical errors removed.

9 - Narration and dialogue improved.

10 - Diction enhanced.

11 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

That is all. Hope you enjoyed this chapter of Final Salvation (revamped), and we'll see you at the next one. :)

~Spirit


	7. Encounter

Chapter 7: Encounter

* * *

Hank stared at the whitewashed ceiling in his room with tired eyes. Another sleepless night. An endless string of random images ran through his head; images from a life too long ago to be recent, yet too recent to be forgotten.

 _Tricky._

 _The Savior._

 _The Auditor._

 _Agents._

 _ATP Engineers and Soldats._

 _Grunts._

 _Tricky again, that goddamned Clown..._

 _...and pain._

 _ **So much pain.**_

He sat upright and closed his eyes, banishing the dark memories back into the deepest part of his mind. For the first time in weeks, Hank's mind was empty and clear, and his already fine-tuned senses became even more acute.

 _Cars driving down the highway, miles and miles away..._

 _Cricket chirps, in the grassy front lawn of his house..._

 _Sanford's gentle snores..._

 _Deimos rolling in his bed..._

All of it, Hank was able to hear vividly, though he secretly envied his partners' ability to sleep so soundly.

His hand instinctively roved towards his desk drawer. With a slow, methodical deliberation, he opened the drawer and withdrew his Beretta 92FS and a cleaning kit.

Hank's thoughts shifted to more recent events as he cleaned his sidearm.

* * *

 _"I must...appropriate some equipment that can be of use to the three of you." Harley said._

 _"Elaborate." Hank said._

 _"You know exactly what I mean, Wimbleton; I can't just let you three run around guns-ablazing. Luck isn't always gonna be on your side the way it was tonight. We're giving you some gear to make sure trigger-finger slips don't result in second-degree murders."_

 _Deimos raised an eyebrow. "Gear? Such as?"_

 _Chief Harley withdrew a handgun-shaped apparatus from his vest and pulled back the slide, popping out a singe single canister. He gingerly picked it up with two fingers and made a wry smile._

 _"This dart is filled with TC-453, a chemical agent designed to knock out any living organism it touches. Every ranking officer in the force carries at least five of these things in case if force becomes necessary. It's the final option before pulling out a real gun. Proof against charging rhinos, your worst enemies, and your wife."_

 _Harley couldn't resist a chuckle at that last part._

 _Sanford nodded. "This could be useful. Why doesn't everyone just use this for all-purpose combat?"_

 _The Chief's grin evaporated. "Believe me, it_ will _be useful...but these little cylinders cost a good two hundred bucks apiece. Remember, I'm only giving this stuff to you because I trust you all to get the job done, and get it done discreetly. Don't disappoint me. Got that?"_

 _"You're talking to Hank J Wimbleton," Hank extended his hand. "Failure is never my agenda."_

 _Harley shook, and the agreement was born._

* * *

That was two weeks ago. The three were later ordered to keep clear from any criminal activities until their equipment had arrived. As planned, Deimos had delivered the promised 5 grand to Augustus afterwards, while the trio had been featured the following day in a newspaper article.

The article, titled _"Former Killers Take Down Entire Gang_ " had caused a shockwave throughout the city and opened up debate about the infamous three. Were they doing this to protect the state and all its citizens? Or was this an act of uncalled-for violence to sate their bloodlust, connected with Hank's actions in the bar? Much of the local gossip was centered on the possibility of the three veterans snapping at any given moment and going on a murderous rampage. Many articles demanded that the trio have their right to bear arms revoked.

 _"Former Killers Take Down Entire Gang_ ", however, was the only positive article the three could find about themselves. It recounted how there was yet hope for the past killers, and that they were not beyond redemption. Hank couldn't help but notice that this was the same person who wrote the article about the barfight also wrote this article, some journalist named "Richards."

Despite the controversy, the city had, reluctantly, rewarded the team with a sizable sum of cash for neutralizing the criminals, though there was also considerable discussion as to whether or not to take advantage of the situation and instead sentence them with life-long prison terms. Deimos spent the cash reward on donations to charities and orphanages across the state, hoping to prove their unselfish motivations and deter suspicion. Hank and Sanford did not object to his plan.

Rather than occupying his thoughts with current events however, Hank set most of his focus on the Chief's words. This could become a new chapter in his life. Would there be a happy ending? Or were they blindly following some bored God's script, one which that led to tragedy?

Hank wondered how Deimos and Sanford could sleep so easily with all that floating in their heads as he pulled out a tattered gun magazine from underneath his mattress. The magazine was outdated, but reading them was one of his favorite pastimes before the war had broken out.

He scanned through the pages, reading their descriptions and crossing out false statements, replacing them with edits of his own. The so-called "gun experts" writing the magazine had clearly never used any of the guns in combat. It disgusted him somehow.

He sighed in boredom. Realizing there was absolutely nothing to do indoors at this point, Hank padded towards the door and left without a sound, locking the door behind him. He checked his mental clock: ten forty-three PM, on the dot.

* * *

Hank idly meandered along the sidewalk until he reached the local park. It was left untended during the war, and, during those bloody years, the park had blossomed into a dozen acres of verdant forest. The smell of the untamed wilderness helped calm his nerves. The park was always Hank's sanctum whenever he felt troubled. It was a closely-kept secret: even Deimos and Sanford didn't know about his night-time ventures here...at least Hank thought so.

He found the bench he would frequent every night: the shady one, under the tallest oak atop the hill. Hank flicked open his knife and made another tally on the tree behind him, scoring the bark.

"That makes 57." he whispered to himself.

It was a brisk, silent, and peaceful night; a much-needed distraction from the hectic day. Hank leaned back and took a deep breath, enjoying the blissful quiet.

That was when he heard the scream.

Hank groaned. The teenagers were probably here with their obnoxious antics. Odd; it was a school night. Normally they would come on by only when the week came to a close.

Nonetheless, it seemed as if the peace was too good to be true; Hank tried to tune out the sound, but the scream only became louder. He narrowed his eyes.

No; something was wrong.

Hank sat up straight and focused his hearing...there. A hundred meters behind him; voices.

 _It was a woman's scream, and it was suffused with fear._

"Please, let me go!" the woman yelled.

"Hey...relax. We don't need to panic, now, do we?" A man responded ravishingly.

"H-hey! Get your hands- what are you-?!" she continued to yell.

Another deeper voice interjected. "Shh...keep it down. Fifteen minutes, that's all we need."

"Mmm...boss, can I have dibs after you're done?" a third voice said.

"Relax, we'll all have a turn. There's enough to go around!"

"Let's give her a little lesson about 'freedom of speech'." said a fourth.

"Such a cutie too; wonder what she's doin' so late at night 'round these parts? Almost like she was askin' for it." the fifth agreed.

"Let go of me!" she screamed.

Hank had heard enough. He soundlessly cleared the hundred meters in ten seconds without breaking a sweat. Approaching from the shadow of some trees, he saw the five thugs grabbing at their struggling victim.

Hank saw and heard enough. He cleared his throat and stepped into the clearing.

"Good evening."

The five men turned to see Hank standing in the open, his arms crossed. Some of them gasped.

The first man, likely the leader, sauntered forth, his voice cocky. "Well, if it isn't the legendary Hank J. Wimbleton. I didn't expect to see the 'hero of Nevada' wandering around these parts."

"Guess you expected wrong then." Hank replied matter-of-factly. He saw the blonde woman, the victim, look at him with almost as much surprise as the others.

"Ain't none of your business, freak. Leave us the fuck alone." the fifth man said.

They turned to face the struggling woman and started to move their affairs elsewhere.

Hank set his foot down. "I just made it my business."

The first man sighed, cracking his knuckles. "Look, me and my boys here, we're not some fresh, scrawny AAHW recruits. Also, if you've passed math class, you'd realize five is bigger than one. Now piss off, we have a very personal grudge with this woman. Don't mess with us, or we'll kick your ass."

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to test that hypothesis?"

The leader chuckled at Hank's challenge. "Did you hear that boys? The killer ninja over here thinks he can take all of us down! He doesn't even have a gun!"

They cawed in raucous laughter, but their laughter died down when they saw that Hank was laughing too.

"Haha, you're right! That's pretty funny!" Hank said, wiping a fake tear off the side of his right eye, "Because bullets are too easy! I should just tie my hands behind my back now that I think about it. That'd at least give you guys a slight chance!"

The leader's face twisted into a mask of rage. "You have balls saying something like that to my face!"

Hank kept his hands behind his back. "Go ahead. I'll let you have the first shot. _Prove me wrong._ "

The leader brought back his right fist and aimed it directly for Hank's left cheek. Hank made no effort to dodge it. His knuckles made glancing contact with Hank's face.

Hank stumbled. The other men laughed.

"Nice!" one of them yelled.

Even the leader wore a smug, satisfied grin, until he realized that Hank was laughing once again.

Hank pulled down his mask, spitting out a wad of pink saliva. "You know what's funny? After being shot in the head over and over again...you don't exactly _feel_ the smaller things anymore."

He pulled his mask back over his nose, and turned his head to face his attacker, his legs and hands twisting into a fighting stance.

 _"My turn."_

Hank sent a lightning-fast jab towards the man's stomach, the sudden blow sending the thug staggering backwards. The leader scrambled to regain his composure, backpedaling nervously as Hank slowly approached him.

"What're you idiots staring at?! Get him!" The leader ordered to the others.

By their alpha's orders, the remaining four men let go of their target and came charging at Hank. Even though she had ample opportunity to make a run for it, the woman stayed, observing the spectacle with wide, thoughtful eyes.

The world slowed to a crawl as Hank analyzed the situation and planned his defense.

The first man brought back his fist. He may as well have struck at a shadow; Hank grabbed his attacker's punching hand and twisted his arm into a wristlock. Hank yanked downwards, elbowing the thug in the back on his neck.

Player one eliminated.

The second came at him with an amateurish round-house kick. Hank noticed how awkward the man looked as he balanced on one foot, and shot out a snap kick towards his assailant's left leg. The second man crashed to the ground, clutching at his broken knee and screaming, thrashing in violent spasms of pain.

Player two eliminated.

The third had momentum to spare, charging towards Hank with a fist raised. Hank used that momentum against him and drove strong reverse punch into the man's stomach, twisting his hips and extending to exert maximum force. The man staggered back, wheezing.

The last henchman approached, brandishing a nasty-looking shiv.

 _'So that's how you wanna play?'_ Hank thought.

Hank flicked open his own pocket knife and parried the man's slash, cutting low and severing the goon's wrist tendons. The shiv clattered to the ground and Hank seized the advantage, stabbing the man's shoulder and putting him down with a mighty headbutt.

Player three eliminated.

The third man, having recovered from Hank's punch, came up from behind, trying to strike Hank with a tree branch. Hank spun about and finished him off with a knee to the man's exposed genitalia.

Player four eliminated.

As the would-be rapist writhed in pain, Hank turned, only to see the leader of the pack had drawn on him. He shakily held a Walther PPK in his hands. "S-stay away, d-demon!"

Hank raised his hands in a bored manner, almost as if he was roleplaying with a child. The leader furrowed his brow in anger.

His finger squeezed the trigger.

"Look out!" The woman screamed.

Hank turned to face her. "Relax. It's just a-"

 _BANG!_

Hank tilted his head to the side, and the bullet whizzed by his left ear. He reached into his jacket, finishing his sentence as if nothing had happened.

"-pistol."

Hank turned around, _tsk-_ ing as if disappointed. "Really? You actually fired? Now the police are gonna be here, too. Dumbass."

He then un-holstered his recently-cleaned Beretta and aimed right for his opponent's forehead.

"By the way, I _did_ have a gun. Unlike you though, I tend not to miss."

The woman closed her eyes and looked away. But instead of shooting to kill, Hank fired at the thug's pistol, knocking it out of his hands.

Hank stepped forwards, staring down the man. "On the ground. And stay there."

The leader found himself rooted to the ground in fear, trembling. The pitiful sight was enough for Hank reconsider pulling the trigger and ending his life, but he instead settled on slamming his skull with the butt of the pistol.

Player five eliminated.

The young woman opened her eyes and sighed in relief. Hank offered a hand.

"You alright?"

Rather than reply, she ran to him and buried her face into his chest, embracing him. Hank froze in surprise. The feeling was ancient and long-forgotten; though warm, it felt alien.

He felt and heard her sobs shake her body, as her tears absorbed into her shirt. Unsure how to comfort her, Hank patted her head slowly, twice.

"Oh...sorry, that was uncalled for." The blonde said, pulling away. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and straightened her jacket.

"I'm...Catherine. Catherine Richards; journalist for the Nevadan Times, but you can just call me Cathy. What you did tonight gave me something else to report about." Cathy wiped the tears from her eyes and forced a smile.

The name seemed familiar to Hank. "Ah… Ms. Richards. You were the journalist who wrote those articles about Sanford and Deimos. And me."

Cathy smiled. "The one and only!"

"Huh. Well, we appreciate the support. The media has... a lot of power over the general populace. What're you doing this late at night?"

"I was actually on my way to interview you. Though I think I got what I needed just now."

Hank cocked his head. "Alone?"

Cathy visibly flinched at his suspicious tone. She looked away momentarily. "Um, well, I... Thought there'd be a long line of reporters wanting to chat with _the_ Hank J Wimbleton, so I guess I'd might as well get a head start and be the first in the line."

"Why travel through the park?"

"Fastest route to your place. And most discreet... er, usually." She stood up, suddenly full of life. "Well, now that we have some time, do you think you can answer some questions-?"

As if on cue, sirens blared in the distance.

Hank rolled his eyes. "Look, as much as I'd love to stop and chat, I gotta go. I was never here. Capiche?"

Before Cathy could say anything back, Hank pressed his gun into Cathy's hand, stepped back into the shadows and disappeared, a whisper in the wind. One of the attackers slowly returned back to consciousness, and struggled to get up.

"Ugh...wha-ACK!"

Cathy kicked him in the side of the head, knocking him out cold once more.

" _Asshole..."_ she muttered.

* * *

Hank sighed as he returned, slamming the door noisily. The exhaustion was killing him; he had enough vigilante work for two lifetimes. This was the third time he got stuck into a fight against larger odds ever since the club incident. The Nevadan police force was apparently losing their fight against crime.

As Hank washed his blood-stained hands, he pondered the intent of the rapists. They had personal business with the woman, and it undoubtedly had to do with Cathy's position as a journalist; perhaps they didn't want her writing favorable articles about the recent events.

* * *

" _Let's give her a little lesson about 'freedom of speech'."_

 _"Look, me and my boys here, we're not some fresh, scrawny AAHW recruits. Also, if you've passed math class, you'd realize five is bigger than one. Now piss off,_ we have a very personal grudge with this woman _ **.**_ _Don't mess with us, or we'll kick your ass."_

* * *

Hank shook the thought off as he took another shower to wash off his stress. This was all his fault; even after three years his past still threw him into violence.

As Hank began washing his face, he flinched. His left cheek was swollen.

' _Maybe showing off wasn't such a good idea...'_

Hank finished his shower and checked the mirror to see the damage. It was inconsequential, small enough that he could just wear his bandana over it, and nobody would be the wiser.

Ice would prove to be unnecessary; he could deal with the pain. From his personal experience, wounds always looked worse than they felt. Besides, at this point he was just too tired to head for the freezer, so instead, Hank put on some clean clothes and found himself on his bed without even realizing it.

As soon as he closed his eyes, he fell asleep.

* * *

 _Fear._

 _ **Something was wrong.**_

He didn't know why, but all he knew was that his body screamed in agonizing pain. And whatever he was running away from had caused it. Hank couldn't even turn around to see who it was; his body had a mind of its own.

 _"Goodnight Hank."_ a foreign yet strangely familiar voice said.

Then... **blackness**.

He fell down an endless chasm, until the sounds of distant combat drifted to his ears. The universe blurred and twisted, folding over itself until discernable images surfaced.

Hank found himself ducking from enemy fire behind a row of crates, Sanford and Deimos at his side. The duo were shooting at something, as their bullet casings littered the ground. Hank found himself staring at his own hands, in a state of shock. His body still failed to cooperate with his mind.

Hank had been in clinical shock before. This was a different kind of shock

He saw Deimos get shot in the right hand.

"Fuck!" Deimos dropped his rifle and clutched at the wound with his other hand. Hank stared at the wound. Deimos's blood streamed down his entire arm, as the bullet had ripped a hole through his hand. Deimos seemed to be trying to move his fingers, but they had gone numb, and his attempts were sluggish.

"Ngh...Hank, take my rifle! I don't think I can shoot it anymore with one hand!" Deimos ordered as he pulled out a pistol and continued to shoot with his uninjured hand.

As much as Hank wanted to help, he still found himself staring at his shaking hands.

"Hey! Did you hear me Hank?!" Hank heard Deimos yell as he faded away into darkness, "Hank?! Haa _aannnkkk..."_

Hank found himself in yet another strange new world. He was breathing heavily, holding a sword. No; it was his personal katana, the Dragon Sword.

His body...the sensation to kill was rising by every passing second.

Sanford and Deimos were writhing, clearly in excruciating pain. Hank wondered what magnitude of strength and skill was required to incapacitate his partners so badly, until he saw the slash wounds on their bodies.

 _And blood on his sword._

No...no. That made no sense. He would never hurt them.

Ever.

No matter how much they angered him...it would never come to this.

 _THIS ISN'T REAL!_

Hank felt his body walk forward, his arms raising his blade. He helplessly screamed for his body to stop; no dice.

Before the weapon could fall, a strikingly familiar blonde with blood on her face ran in front of him, stretching her arms out in a feeble attempt to shield Sanford and Deimos. She almost looked like...

 _...The girl from the park?_

"Stop, Hank! Wake up!" She yelled. "Don't you remember me?!"

The sword continued its inexorable ascent...

...but his eyesight faded yet again.

 _"Hank..."_ a deep, bass voice said.

Hank found himself in a completely black void. He began to dash back and forth, when he realized that, in the endless darkness, movement was futile.

" _You are in danger…"_

"Show yourself!" Hank yelled.

 _"A new wave arises; a tsunami of destruction and despair..."_ the voice continued, as if scripted.

"Danger? From what? Who the hell are you?!" Hank demanded.

The voice became distant. _"Beware, Hank. Danger lies ahead..._ "

"Answer me!"

The ground crumbled away. Hank didn't know the height he was falling from, but all he knew from the sense of vertigo was that he was falling.

Then, in the distant depths, bloody swords stuck blade-up, waited to impale him at the bottom of the pit.

As they grew larger and larger, Hank realized there was no escape.

* * *

Hank woke up gasping for air, drenched in sweat. The window in his room glimmered with the morning light, as birds chirruped in cheerful chorus. Hank turned to face the sunlight and the lazily-drifting dust motes; for the first time, the real world seemed better than the imaginary.

He rubbed his face with his right hand. The pain, the sorrow, the confusion...it was all _real_ , there was no denying it.

And, if the voice was to be believed... _what horrors does the future hold?_

* * *

(Original) A/N: Chapter seven is over. Lucky number seven. Not for Hank at least. The story has begun escalating to a large climax, but that doesn't mean it's over yet. At least, not until many more chapters pass by. This chapter is probably one of the most important ones you'll read in this fanfic. Although it seems strange that a woman saved Hank from a rape and has a threatening dream in the same night, trust me, there's a reason for that. Have I ever lied to you? Eight will be up and running soon. Reviews are a writer's blood!

* * *

New A/N: ...At this point, there's nothing else new to say that we haven't said in the past six chapters. So we'll go straight into the Changelog.

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ :

1 - Cathy Richards now reveals her name to Hank immediately after the fight-scene.

2 - Cathy Richards is now a reporter who wrote both articles mentioned in previous chapters (originally she was planned to be a secretary, though that proved to serve no purpose in plot)

3 - "Chief Harley" is now referred to as just "Harley." It just works better.

4 - Fight Scene upgraded. More boo-boos.

5 - More description added.

6 - Grammatical errors removed.

7 - Narration and dialogue improved.

8 - Diction enhanced.

9 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

Hope you guys are enjoying the changes we're making so far; MCG, Alias-Maxima, and Sacrom have been working their asses off in making this the best possible fanfic out there. Though we can't get rid of the cliches (cause it would deviate too far from the original plot), we at least tried to make them _good_ cliches (as Alias put it).

We hope you enjoyed this chapter of Final Salvation. See you in the next. :)

~Spirit


	8. Introductions

Chapter 8: Introductions

* * *

Hank listened to the steady, frantic thrumming of his heart inside his chest.

He exhaled slowly, shakily. The sun filtered through the perpetually-closed window shades. The corners of his room danced in shadow, pulsating with black fire. Hank liked to think that nothing scared him, anymore. Hank liked to think that, like every other foe he had ever faced, he had confronted and ruthlessly murdered his fear long ago.

Hank stripped off his sweat-soaked greyshirt. Upon realizing that he had run out of clean greyshirts, he reached into his laundry hamper and withdrew the least bloodstained one he could find.

Hank slipped on the tired, faded garment as he trudged out of his room. He was inexplicably famished. He could hear the sounds of cooking food and subdued bickering. Hank walked past Sanford's impeccably organized room, as well as Deimos' veritable wire-strewn pigsty.

Hank stepped into the kitchen, hoping to put his growling stomach to rest. Much to his surprise, it was Deimos cooking, not Sanford. The latter stood behind Deimos' shoulder, somewhat anxiously.

"Not so heavy on the chives! What're you trying to do, poison us? Oh, hi, Hank. Deimos! That's enough salt."

Deimos laughed off Sanford's comments- almost maniacally. "Never enough, salt, San, 'specially when we're talking about you. Hey, Hank, check this out!"

With a flick of the wrist, Deimos sent the contents of the pan flipping in the air. Hank watched as the oddly-shaped omelette soared into the air.

"Oh, for fuck's…" Sanford started to mutter, as Deimos lined up the pan with his "omelette."

On the bright side, he judged correctly, and the omelette landed, more or less, inside the pan.

Unfortunately, the omelette exploded upon contact, like a fragmentation grenade. Egg, diced pepper and ham "shrapnel" splattered onto Deimos' and Sanford's greyshirts.

A small cube of ham flew in Hank's direction. He picked it out of the air and scrutinized it between his two fingers.

Undercooked.

"It's three in the afternoon," Hank realized, as he eyed the piece of meat. "Where's breakfast?"

Hank didn't let it show, but he was almost as mortified as he was famished. He had never had such a prolonged rest in years. He had been conditioned to wake up at exactly five AM, every day. He felt guilty for sleeping in so egregiously.

Deimos wryly grinned.

"Uh, well, you see, I wanted to give cooking a shot, right?"

"This is his tenth try," Sanford dryly interjected, gesturing towards his food-bespattered shirt. "The previous nine were inedible."

"Hey, the eighth one wasn't so bad!"

Hank waved aside Deimos' protest. "Just… Make me a sandwich, or something. Even you couldn't possibly fuck that up."

"Sure thing!"

Sanford wiped his palms on his shirt. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge, falling back onto a chair with a sigh.

"Why do I even bother…?"

* * *

Six grilled-cheese sandwiches sat in the middle of the kitchen table Deimos and Hank sat around. Sanford sat on the counter, an empty can of NevAlcohol in his hands.

Deimos had wolfed down two sandwiches in the time it took Hank to eat half of his first.

"Call me Chef Deimos, cause this shit is fucking good!" Deimos said, his mouth full. He looked at Hank expectantly. "What do you think?"

Hank shrugged, his head braced on one hand while the other holding a sandwich. "It's melted cheese on toast."

"But it tastes like a grilled-cheese sandwich, right?"

"Uh… I guess?"

"Ex-actly!" Deimos exclaimed, spraying crumbs. He laid back on his chair with a wide grin. "And who in this kitchen, might I ask, said that I couldn't cook?"

"Because you can't!" Sanford said, tossing a pan into the sink, "What are you bragging about? It doesn't take a diploma to make a fucking grilled cheese sandwich!"

"You're right, it takes a _Master's Degree_ to make something as good as this." Deimos said, "This is fucking art right here. I got it! I'll call it... 'The Deimos Special'."

Sanford gripped the edges of the sink, sagging his head as if he was ready to vomit. "Holy fuck…"

"Anyways, now to address the elephant in the room…" Deimos turned back to Hank.

"Where'd ya go last night?"

Hank stopped chewing, swallowing a few seconds later.

"Hm?"

"You can hear a hobo tinkling on a street corner a half mile away, so don't tell me you couldn't hear what I just said."

Hank clenched a fist under the table. "I wasn't playing deaf. It's just a stupid question to ask. I was asleep in my bed last night. Obviously."

"Really? Then explain this."

Deimos shuffled in his seat, pulling out a bloody greyshirt.

Hank's greyshirt.

Without noticing it, Hank dropped his sandwich onto the plate in front of him. Deimos grinned.

"I know enough about blood to tell that this is fresh. Maybe, at most, half a day old."

Sanford grimaced. "Wait, you're telling me you had that beneath your ass the entire time? That's… er..."

"That's not the point!" Deimos sputtered, his face turning a slight shade of pink, "Point is, Hank's hidin' something from us, and I wanna know what dirty little secret someone like him has to keep away from his roomies!"

Hank raised his hands up in defeat. "Fine, Holmes. You got me. I went out to go buy a pack of smokes. Is that wrong?"

Sanford raised an eyebrow. "You smoke?"

"Yeah. That's my 'dirty little secret.' Now you all shut up and let me get back to eating, yeah?"

Deimos clenched his fists. "That doesn't explain anything! How does smoking equate to a getting blood on a shirt?"

Hank smirked. "I thought you were smart, Deimos. You should know that all smokers die. So I finished my cig, crossed the street, and was hit by a car. And I died. Lots of blood. Et Cetera. And then I came back to life a few minutes ago to eat something because the food in Hell is even worse than your cooking, so can you just shut the fuck up and let me eat?"

Deimos slammed a rolled up issue of the daily Nevadan Times onto the table in front of Hank.

"Eat, after you read today's editorial."

Sanford, his curiosity piqued, stood beside Hank's shoulder as he unrolled the paper. He quickly found the aforementioned section.

* * *

" _Editor's Corner: The State of Crime in Nevada"_

" _Since the conclusion of the Nevadan War three years prior, criminal activity has been a rampant issue across the state. With a crime rate of 47.8%, it's no wonder why Nevadans are even locking up their trash. Studies show this influx of crime has caused many war veterans to go missing, having lost their old areas of residence after being conscripted for decades of combat. Perhaps they emigrated out of state, or perhaps they suffered worse fates at the hands of these criminals. In fact, evidence shows that many prominent gangsters had taken part in the Nevadan War! Undoubtedly such a state of affairs has turned our once luxurious state into a cesspool of violence and-"_

* * *

Rolling back up the newspaper, Hank tossed it back to Deimos, who caught it with his face.

Deimos crushed the newspaper and slammed it back on the table. "Really?!"

Hank crossed his arms. "What does this crap have to do with anything?"

"How about you read the bottom half of the editorial then? You know, the part with your fucking _name_ on it?!"

Hank grabbed the newspaper back. His eyes quickly traced over the last portion of the column and located his name.

* * *

" _Last night, I managed to witness one of these veterans firsthand. Who else better than the infamous Hank J. Wimbleton?"_

* * *

Last night. Hank frowned as images flashed through his head.

 _Cathy. Cathy Richards._

"Hmph…" Hank intoned.

Deimos reached for his fourth sandwich. "It gets even more interesting, keep reading."

* * *

" _While I was making my way towards Mr. Wimbleton's home, hoping to secure an early morning interview, I found myself cornered by five men who had, in a manner of speaking, less than benevolent intent. But just as all hope seemed lost, like a knight in shining armor, Hank J. Wimbleton appeared."_

* * *

Sanford grinned. "Heh. 'A knight in shining armor,' she says."

Hank turned towards Sanford, raising a balled fist. "You want me to shove this shining gauntlet somewhere painful?"

"Fine, fine. Keep going though, this is really good."

* * *

" _After a bit of gutsy, man-to-man trash-talking with their leader, in a mere few minutes, Hank laid down my five assailants with a flurry of powerful self-defense moves. Law enforcement later came to my aid, arresting the men. If these rapists are convicted, and I sincerely hope they are, they each face a ten-year prison sentence._

 _Which brings us to this editorial's core questions: are these war veterans- Deimos, Hank, and Sanford- really still the bad guys? Should we continue to oust them from society, even though they may have been forced to end the lives of so many people? I myself understand the pain that comes with having to accept these men back into society, as I, like many of you, have lost loved ones to the war. Yet, even though years have passed since the war's conclusion, when do we actually move on? When will we consider forgiveness?_

 _Moreover, even though these men have committed what some consider to be unforgettable and unforgivable sins, therein lies the undeniable fact that for years they have risked their lives through fields of gore against an Agency Hell-bent on taking absolute control of the human race. In war, objectively speaking, sins have to be committed to ensure victory against malevolent armies._

 _Now, upon engaging crime without the intent to kill, we find three such men who are willing to take a step further in repairing the damages that came with the Nevadan War. To them, they think they have sacrificed their innocence and sanity to save the world from tyranny. To us, they are liabilities and murderers. In all fairness, they do not owe us anything, but at the very least, they should be recognized back as members of our society._

 _I, myself, am ready for that eventuality. But who am I to speak for the widows and orphans? I want you all to consider the facts that we should not ignore. Because, my Nevadan brothers and sisters, you are the only ones who can truly decide their fate."_

* * *

The only sound that could be heard at that very moment was Deimos' chewing. Sanford laid back against a wall.

"Damn. That was... pretty much spot on."

Deimos gulped. "Right? That girl's one Hell of a writer. It's probably the first time I've ever seen a reporter have the balls to publish an entire editorial for _our_ side. Hey, we're making progre-"

Once again, Hank tossed the newspaper towards Deimos. Once again, Deimos caught it with his face.

"WILL YOU STOP THROWING YOUR SHIT AT ME, YOU FUCKING CHIMP!" Deimos complained, pawing the newspaper off his face and throwing it on the ground.

"She's an idiot." Hank said, "Crazy woman's going to get herself lynched by cityfolk."

Sanford whistled. "Wow. Ice-cold."

"Am I wrong? People like us…" Hank crossed his arms. "... Look, right now we're the outcasts. And anyone who tries to reach out for outcasts gets stoned, whether they want to or not. Heh, wouldn't be surprised if she loses her job by noon."

"... Then doesn't that give us more of an incentive to appreciate her article?" Sanford asked.

Hank slammed the side of his fist onto the table, making his roommates jolt.

"Have you two completely forgotten where this city's thrown us? We get ourselves literally killed in a war we wanted nothing to do with and what's our reward? A bunch of rocks to the face and empty death threats every other week from the same people we fought for. And what, we're supposed to kiss the ass of an overconfident reporter for writing an editorial about us? This is too suspicious. She is trying to get at something."

"I mean, I personally wouldn't mind giving her something, if you catch my drift-"

"Shut the fuck up, Deimos," Hank snapped.

Deimos lowered his head. As the kitchen went silent once more, any warmth originally there was now gone.

 _DING-DONG!_

The sound took Sanford and Deimos by surprise. Hank sighed.

"Speak of the devil. Probably the mailman delivering more death threats. Wouldn't be surprised if he threw one into the pile too." Hank got up from his seat, walking towards the front door, willing to do anything to get away from the table. "But if it's one of those kids again… well, I wouldn't mind paying off some child abuse charges."

Deimos went pale at the thought. Sanford quickly chased after Hank as he began unlocking the door.

"Hey, waitasecond! Hank!"

By the time Sanford had his hand on Hank's left shoulder though, Hank had already opened the door. The two straightened their backs in surprise as they realized who had rang the doorbell.

To Sanford, a young woman, dressed plainly. To Hank, a familiar face and an all-too familiar name.

"Hi! I'm Catherine Richards, though you can call me just 'Cathy'."

Her blue eyes turned to Hank, "But one of you already knows that! Hopefully!"

She smiled and offered her hand to shake. Hank did not budge.

Sanford dipped his head in recognition. "Miss Richards? What a coincidence, we were just talking about your article in the paper!"

Sanford stepped forwards and took Cathy's hand.

"Name's Sanford. I appreciate the work you're doing. We all do."

She beamed. "Thanks!"

Hank on the other hand, crossed his arms and remained stock-still. "You again?"

Cathy's joyful expression melted away. "Ah, excuse me for coming in at random like this! It... must be a bad time to talk right now, yes?"

"Yep." Hank said.

"N-" Sanford started, but Hank had already kicked the door shut.

Sanford stood, speechless. He glared at Hank until the words came back to his mouth.

"Hank! Come on man, are you for real?!"

Hank nodded. "Yep."

"Would you like me to come back later?" Cathy's muffled voice sounded out from behind the door. "Just, uh, leave me an email or something. You can find it on the website."

"No." Hank called out. "Don't come back. None of us are interested in an interview."

"Ye- God _damnit_ Hank, you're making this really hard!" Sanford protested.

"Um, if you think I'm here for an interview, I'm actually not! I just want to have an honest talk to… you know, express my gratitude for what you did last night!" Cathy replied.

Sanford turned to Hank again. "See? She's not even here for an interview. Come on, at least give her _that_."

Hank clenched his fists. "I thought I already told you, nobody in this house owes anybody jack-shit."

"Please! Just five to eight minutes! If you're not interested, fine, at least give Deimos and me a chance to not seem like assholes!" Sanford argued.

Hank turned to the door and then back to Sanford. If he ever ranked Sanford's judgemental stares, the one he was receiving right now would be a withering ten out of ten.

Hank finally abated. "Fine. Whatever."

With slight hesitation, Hank opened the door again…

… but Cathy was gone.

Hank shrugged. "Oh well. She's gone. Too bad."

Sanford spun on his heel and ran towards the living room. Deimos, his curiosity piqued, decided to follow his colleague.

"Yo, what's up?"

Sanford placed his hand on the windowsill and vaulted over it without breaking stride. Deimos stuck his head out after him.

"You know, there are these things called doors-!"

"She's headed this way! Window's faster!" Sanford yelled back.

"Who's 'She?!'" Sanford heard Deimos calling out behind him.

With a mad sprint, Sanford managed to quickly locate the reporter, who was sulking as she crossed the road.

"Wait! Hold up!"

Cathy turned around. Sanford stopped in front of her.

"Hey, I'm... really, really sorry about that little fiasco." Sanford said, "You can come back to our place. That big idiot was about to let you in, but you already walked away."

Cathy shook her head, looking away. "No, no, it's fine. I already got the message. If my presence bothers him, then the least I can do is respect that."

"Wait, no, that's not it at all!" Sanford scratched the back of his head. "He's just a little...misguided when it comes to people. And a bit annoyed about the current state of the city. You understand what I mean, right? I mean, you seemed like you did in your editorial."

The young woman's expression lightened. She smiled.

"Yes. I guess I would know a thing or two about that, thank you."

Sanford felt the blood rushing into his cheeks. He placed his hands in his pockets, looking away. "Yeah, uh. Sure thing."

It took only a minute to return to the house. Sanford opened the door, leading Cathy into the living room. Hank sat on a chair, his eyes closed and arms crossed.

"Back," Sanford glared at Hank, "with our guest, this time around."

Hank twisted the corner of his lip. Sanford frowned.

"What? We agreed to-!"

Hank didn't wait for Sanford to finish. He scowled, jerked his thumb towards the kitchen, stood, and trudged away.

Cathy entered the house. As she passed by the living room, she let out a small gasp, her face turning red as her eyes focused on the couch- or rather, the man on the couch. Sanford glanced at the couch as well, his frustration returning to him as he realized who was there.

Deimos, practically half-naked with an unbuttoned shirt exposing his well-muscled chest. He laid out against the furniture, as if he were posing for a paparazzi.

The techie made a wide grin. "Welcome. To mi casa."

"Uh… yes, thank you…" Cathy stammered.

Sanford placed his hand across his eyes.

"You fucking idiot…"

* * *

The ticking of a nearby clock was the only sound echoing through the living room. Deimos sat on one end of the couch while Cathy sat at the other. Hank still sat on the same chair, his eyes focused on Cathy.

Cathy gripped her legs. "Um… Thank you for inviting me to your home. I know how hard it must be to let other Nevadans near your property… Given the, how should I put it? Given the situation."

"Don't give me credit. Sanford pretty much forced me into letting you in." Hank answered.

Cathy bit the bottom of her lip. "Oh. Well… I'm still grateful regardless."

Deimos was gripping at the sides of his head. To him, this was torture.

"We read your editorial earlier this morning. It was really great!" Deimos gave her a thumbs up.

"Ah, thank you! Sanford told me about it on my way back here." She looked at Hank, "Did you catch the reference I threw in at the start?"

"Reference? What reference?" Hank asked, genuinely curious.

"You know, the one about locking up the trash? That one."

Awkward silence reigned supreme yet again. Having encountered nothing but vacant gazes, Cathy finally decided to continue her explanation.

"Cause… you guys locked up some of the Nevadan Devils in the trash on your first raid?"

Hank raised his head in acknowledgement. "You see, Sanford and Deimos were the only ones who were locking the incapacitated criminals in the dumpsters. So it doesn't apply to me. No wonder I missed it."

Cathy shrugged, leaning back onto the cushion. "Yeah, I suppose you're right…"

Sanford walked in a bit too quickly, some iced tea spilling out of the glasses he carried on a platter.

"Here, here! Drinks, you guys look thirsty!"

Deimos grinned. "Heh, that's not the only thing I'm thirsty-"

Sanford fired a heated glare towards Deimos. The techie felt an invisible bead of sweat race down the side of his head.

"Th-thanks!" Deimos said as he reached for a glass.

Cathy nodded, forcing a smile. "Thank you, Sanford. I think I'll pass."

Hank looked up at Sanford with an eyebrow raised. "Where's mine?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about what you exactly wanted. Let's head to the kitchen-" Sanford said, grabbing at Hank's arm.

"Huh? Can't it wait after we're done with this… thing?"

"It's fine, just… come here for a sec!" Sanford said with a powerful tug.

Even though it took quite some force, Sanford managed to drag Hank into the kitchen. Sanford exhaled, his arms already exhausted.

Hank watched as Sanford banged his head against a nearby wall. "It's not about drinks. Why am I actually here?"

Sanford rubbed the temples on the sides of his head. "Hank. You have an IQ of 200, but you can't hold a normal conversation with a girl for like… two minutes? What the Hell are you doing man?"

"Are women supposed to be different from men? They can kill as well as men do. Might as well talk to them in the same way."

"No, ugh… look! I want you to use that brain of yours to start a _normal_ conversation. Talks like these are different than the usual ones you have even with me and Deimos. You gotta bring up stuff the two of you can openly talk about and _enjoy_ talking about, understand?"

Hank opened his mouth.

"No! No guns or weapons or anything! You fought through a war, she hasn't!"

Hank closed his mouth. Sanford felt zero sense of reassurance.

"Think average. Conversation's like… like a battle or something, yeah? You're good at that sort of improvised tactics shit, so this shouldn't be hard! Just do that for us, okay?" Sanford clasped his hands again, "I'm begging you here man!"

Hank rolled his eyes. "This was a bad idea to begin with. I don't understand why you're trying so hard with this crap."

"Forget about the reasons! Can you do it?"

"If it'll make you shut up, fine. This whole shitfest is making me feel sick, so the sooner it's over, the better." Hank said, "Now can I sit back down before they get any ideas?"

Sanford nodded. "You go on ahead. But for real, I kinda do need to know what you want to drink."

* * *

The first thing Hank saw when he returned to the living room was Deimos a bit too close into Cathy's personal space.

"Yeah, sorry about all the awkward tension yo. Big H isn't exactly a ladies' man, feel me?" Deimos said, a half-octave lower than usual.

"It's quite alright!" Cathy said with another smile, slowly edging further down the couch.

Hank cleared his throat. Just as he was about to say something however, Cathy straightened her back and spoke again.

"Ah, speaking of which! There have been some rumors around the city I've actually been wondering to ask you and Sanford!" Cathy said.

Deimos leaned back. "Huh? Like what?"

"Well, it quite surprises me to see the legendary Deimos making all these… advances when the rumors strongly suggested that he was already into more…" Cathy rolled her eyes as she searched for the proper term. "How do I say it... rougher skin?"

Deimos blinked in confusion. "Rumors? Rougher skin?"

Soon grasping the meaning of these words, he turned pale, eyes widening with horror.

"Oh God… that's what people are saying about me?"

Cathy laughed. "Sorry! Was that too much?"

"No, that was perfect. Thank you." Hank said with a nod of approval.

Hank returned to his seat as Sanford entered the room. As Sanford passed the glass of iced tea to Hank, he saw Deimos staring blankly at the carpet.

"Did… I miss something?" Sanford asked himself.

Hank gripped the arms of his chair. If Sanford wanted to see him actually try, he'll put on a show so phenomenal, it would keep his mouth shut for the next twenty years. His eyes locked with Cathy's as the two of them initiated a staring contest.

" _Ah. She is doing the staring technique,"_ Hank began calculating in his head, " _We are at a stalemate, then... It would be a sign of assertiveness and strength to be the one to initiate conversation! I have to gain control of this conversation and make the first statement! I'll begin with a general statement. Something everyone has to have knowledge of. That will be the opener. From there I'll execute much larger conversation topics, which are general, but tend to have more personal values. She's a reporter, right? So that means she's connected with the media or something. Media… news. A general topic the news reports about-"_

Cathy blushed, breaking eye contact. "Um…"

Hank shot up from his chair. This was it!

 _His killer strategy comes into play!_

"Nice weather we're having!" Hank blurted.

Cathy pressed her back against the couch, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"... Uh, yeah! Certainly! It's a nice day out!"

Sanford averted his gaze while Deimos struggled to suppress his laughter. Hank sat back down slowly.

" _She's fast."_ Hank thought to himself, rubbing his chin with one hand, " _She's clearly very experienced with this… of course, she's had a number of conversations before to polish her one-on-one dialogue. I barely have enough time to figure out what my next topic is going to be so I might regain the initiative, but at the very least, some sort of conversation has been started. Maybe I should try and revisit my psychology studies. Read her body movements first and then…"_

"Welp, I think that's enough of that, yeah?" Sanford grabbed Hank by the shoulders, "You seem pretty tired, maybe we should close this up!"

Hank scrunched his face. "What? I'm feeling perfectly-"

"No, no. I think you're forcing yourself! This was a good meeting, yeah?" Sanford turned to Cathy, "And our lovely guest here must have places to go too, yes?"

Cathy checked her watch, jumping out of her seat as soon as she realized what time it was.

"Oh shoot, you're right! My lunch break's almost over!"

Sanford sighed in relief. Cathy quickly walked up towards Hank, shaking his left hand with both hands.

"Thank you very much for having me here upon such short notice! Would it be possible if we could meet up again at Sunset Park tomorrow evening? No interview questions, I swear."

Everyone in the room went silent. Hank narrowed his eyes.

"... What?"

"I mean… if it's not too much of a bother, I'd like it if you and me could go for a stroll around the hillside? It's a beautiful view just before nightfall. Plus, I felt like I didn't really get to know you much, so perhaps in private we'd have an easier time?"

Hank pulled his hand away from hers. "Look, Ms. Richards. I'd love to, bu-"

"He'd love to!" Sanford said, quickly covering Hank's mouth with one hand. "I think it's time that we let you go. You've got to get back to your office before your manager gets annoyed, or something!"

Hank shoved Sanford's hand away. "What? Sanford, I-"

Sanford quickly began egging Cathy towards the front door. "We wouldn't want that after all, considering the glowing article you wrote for us, right? Ha, ha!"

"Uh, thank you for being so considerate, but are you sure-"

"Yes! Yes, we're positive! He will definitely be there!" Sanford cut her off, opening the front door. "Have a nice day! Sorry we didn't offer you anything to eat, I didn't realize it was your lunch break after all. Uh, there's a good sandwich place at the corner of the street, I'd suggest you check that out. Bye!"

Cathy stumbled through the doorway. "Can he make it by 6-?"

"He'll be there!"

Sanford slammed the door. He turned around, his back sliding against the entrance.

Sensing Hank standing in front of him, Sanford looked up.

"'Nice weather we're having?' Are you fucking kidding me..."

"Why did you arrange for me to meet her."

Sanford placed his arms over his knees. "You'll thank me later."

"Thank you? You waste almost a half hour of my time with this bullshit and then you decide to schedule _another_ playdate for me? If I wanted other people to live my life, I'd have let The Auditor win! Just fuck off with this shit, will you?"

Sanford let out a chuckle. "She's not your type, huh?"

Hank seized Sanford by the collar, lifting him up.

"Are you deaf?"

"Guys, chill out!" Deimos tried to intervene, "It's seriously not a big deal, save the energy for our raids-!"

"You keep your fucking mouth shut, kid." Hank spat. He faced Sanford again. "I don't know what made you think I'm your little goddamn plaything, but this pathetic farce ends _now_. I am not going to that… meetup."

"Yes, you are." Sanford said, prying Hank's hands off his greyshirt, "You are going tomorrow at 6 PM. Sharp, like your katana blade."

Sanford walked back towards the living room, picking up the empty glasses.

"Was that a challenge?" Hank slowly turned around, "I'm sorry, but, do I have to give you a solid reminder as to who the fuck you're messing with?"

"I just want to see if Hank J. Wimbleton is a human being."

"Human?" Hank stormed towards Sanford, shoving Deimos to the side, "Don't even get me started with that bullshit! You don't even have the slightest fucking hint as to what I went through. 'Being human' was the last fucking thing on my checklist back then. And it still is now."

"Alright. Well, I'll cook for two in the future. No point wasting the effort to cook for someone who's dead inside."

Deimos cringed. Hank cocked his head.

"You're going to try and starve me out? You know there's a thing called 'take-out,' right?"

Sanford dropped the glasses in the kitchen sink.

"Fine. In that case, I'll have to sweeten the pot, then."

"I don't see how you could possibly do that."

"I'll cook whatever the fuck you want for breakfast for the next three months."

Deimos' jaw dropped. "San, are you serious?"

"Yeah. I am." Sanford turned to Hank, "You want a fucking steak for the next 10 mornings? I'll give you a fucking steak for the next 10 mornings. I'm not exaggerating."

"You know my taste buds are almost dead, right? One of the more unpleasant side effects of constant resurrection. It started after the sixth time I came back. Everything tastes like ashes. But, I guess I _could_ make you cook soufflé and lobster every morning at 4 AM."

"Holy…" Deimos whispered. Sanford refused to retreat.

"Fine! I'll fucking take it! And I'm a man of my goddamn word!"

"Okay. But actually, while you're willing to go so far, there's something else I'd like too."

Sanford hesitated, but quickly recomposed himself. "What?"

Hank gestured for Sanford to walk towards him. Once they were a mere inches away from each other, Hank whispered in his ear.

Sanford's eyes widening only inflated Deimos's curiosity.

"NO!" Sanford yelled, stepping back. "I am NOT fucking doing that! Fuck you, you sick son of a bitch!"

"Too bad." Hank said, shaking his head. "And here I was, planning out a suit and tie for my 'date.' Oh well. Looks like somebody's gonna get stood up tomorrow evening at the park!"

Hank shrugged, spun on his heel, and strode towards the living room. Sanford clenched his teeth, the bitter taste of defeat washing over him.

"FINE!"

Hank turned around, genuinely surprised. Sanford sighed, looking down at the floor.

"I'll… I'll do it."

"Hmm? I'm sorry, but I think you should speak up a little."

"I'LL FUCKING DO YOUR BET!" Sanford pointed at the door, "But you're going out with that girl for the next three months, and you are going to have the best fucking time of your lives, you understand?!"

Hank grinned. "Oh yeah. I read you loud and clear on that. In fact, I'll do you a favor and buy the outfit right now. I mean, it's money coming out of my wallet, but I think it's for a _very_ good cause."

Sanford was breathing heavily as Hank passed him towards the door. Before he left, he whispered one more time into Sanford's ear.

"These next three months are going to be absolutely _amazing_."

Sanford felt the color drain out of his face as the door slammed behind him. Deimos walked up to his partner.

"What were you guys talking about? And… what 'outfit?'"

"Keep your mouth shut for a minute." Sanford said, barely audible.

"Alright. Though, I at least figured something interesting out about that Cathy-girl." Deimos added.

"What."

Mimicking Hank, Deimos leaned close to Sanford's ear.

"B-cup."

Sanford slowly turned to Deimos' face, seeing his classic smug grin.

He punched him in the gut. Hard.

"Oh, fuck!" Deimos fell, clutching his stomach, "I think you ruptured my spleen!"

"That's not the only thing that I'm gonna rupture, you perverted little-!"

 _RING! RING!_

The sound of ringing stopped Sanford in his tracks. Deimos and him looked at the entrance towards the living room.

 _RING! RING!_

Again. This time they were certain it wasn't in their heads; the phone had been ringing for the first time in months.

Sanford picked up the phone.

"Hello? No, this is Sanford, he's out shopping right now."

Deimos watched as Sanford paused, a barely discernable voice on the other end speaking.

"Oh, okay. Tonight? Yeah, we can make it then. Yes, I'm certain. Okay, thank you."

Sanford hung up the phone. Before Deimos could ask, Sanford already gave him an answer.

"Harley. Our equipment's ready, so get your shit together. We're going for our second raid."

* * *

Original A/N: Okay, I thought 3,000 words was long enough, but this was about 3,700. That's way too huge. Some people have trouble thinking about material for their stories and write too little. I have the complete opposite problem. Is that bad? Oh well.

I decided to add this chapter because I realized the story was starting to go dry without humor. The action resumes in the next few chapters. I think this story is turning into crap though. I'm not sure that adding some OC's were good ideas and readers would hate this, but then again...you can't really write this type of story without OC's. Chapter 9 is coming soon for those of you who are hooked (but I bet there's not many of you T.T). See you later!

* * *

New A/N (7/8/16): You know, the more I read my Author's Notes from 2012 with every passing chapter, the more I want to stab my eyes out with a butterknife. Like, holy shit. Some of the stuff I said and wrote back then is overkill cringe now, haha.

Admittedly though, it's really interesting to look back at my first ever fanfic. Even though it's absolute garbage, without Final Salvation, none of this would be here. Not Hank's Legacy, the other fanfics I wrote, and definitely not the amazing people I've met over the years. So truly, this story is a shitty, but valuable memento that I really keep close to my heart.

A lot of changes took place in this chapter for those of you who are new to this fic or don't remember the original. Allow us to remind you with the changelog:

* * *

 _ **Changelog:**_

1- Cathy Richards is now the writer of the article that reports on the last chapter's assault scene with Hank. Also, HUGE edits on the article itself; we pretty much overhauled the original version. We're writing a newspaper here, not a 3rd grade book report!

2 - Deimos is a lot more… flirtatious in the new version.

3 - Sanford is also taking more of a responsible role as well.

4 - Cathy is depicted as more reserved and realistic. She talked way too much in the original version.

5 - Less female stereotypes running around (hopefully). I figured out how to "girl" a little bit more with some help from Alias.

6 - Compromise between Hank and Sanford added. Let's just say it's going to be a very long three months...

7 - More description added.

8 - Grammatical errors removed.

9 - Narration and dialogue improved.

10 - Diction enhanced.

11 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

Alright, enough of that. You all get the point. A casual reminder for those of you who aren't aware: the original version of Final Salvation will be available for viewing on my profile on a Google Doc. Be wary; it's really, _really_ bad.

I'll end the chapter on this note: according to 2012 me, I was unsure as to whether or not there were even actual people reading my stories. Four years later, with the addition of Sacrom, Alias, and even more people, I don't think I can be unconfident as I was before. The only reason why I was able to get this far was because of you guys.

Those of you who stayed from Final Salvation to now, or at least left reviews somewhere down the line and waited patiently between months for the next update; the amount of gratitude and respect I have for those of you is indescribable. I don't think even I myself will be able to do such a thing with other stories, so it means the world to me to be able to have people who would actually wait and share their thoughts. Even if you simply visited to read the chapters and didn't drop by a review, I am still grateful. My stories are hitting the thousands in views, and for Madness Combat fanfics, that's an unbelievable number, so thank you all so much for giving so much love.

Thank you for reading. Hopefully you guys enjoy this new version more than the old, and we will continue to work hard on this revision project. Expect more great content to come.

See ya. :)

~Spirit


	9. Second Strike

Chapter 9: Second Strike

* * *

When they stepped through the door, the first thing to greet them was a neat stack of three unmarked boxes. Footsteps echoed from another room, and Harley came out to greet them.

The police chief handed each of them a box. "Thanks for coming on such short notice. Your equipment came earlier than expected."

Each box contained an identical bulletproof vest, a set of night-vision goggles, and a knuckleduster. The weapons, however, were far more interesting - three pistols, three assault rifles, and three sniper rifles, but even the everyman could tell that these particular models had been outfitted to fire darts.

Hank inspected the sniper rifle. "Are we going into a raid, or a battlefield?"

"The engineers tried keeping the packages multi-purpose. These were all custom-made, first of their kind. Non-lethal, assuming you know how to use them."

Harley took out the assault rifle from Hank's box, pulling the charging handle back and letting it snap to its position. He handed it back to Hank.

"Try and keep this stuff in your hands when you get outside, yeah? This is some real expensive shit we're talking about here. Unless you'd like to wait another month for your next shipment."

"You should've made submachine guns," Hank muttered, taking back the rifle. "These barrels are too long for close quarters."

Harley spread his hands half-apologetically. "Sorry, but I gotta pay my men. Budget's just not big enough."

The dart guns operated and were shaped like actual firearms, but the dark gunmetal of a conventional gun had been replaced with an equally durable, but transparent material that revealed their geared inner workings to the naked eye.

"According to the boys at the lab, when one of these darts gets stuck into a solid object, it releases the chemical into the victim." Harley pulled out one of the spare darts from a box. He shook the liquid trapped inside of the capsule. "Remember that TC-453 chemical I told you guys about? Here it is."

Deimos leaned forward in examination of the dart. His eyes narrowed. "I've never seen that kind of lightweight polymer before. And you had it all injection molded for every dart and dart gun. I can spot one or two blemishes, but from what I can see, these are very precise clearances. These are prototypes, aren't they? Must've cost an arm and a leg - maybe some very important favors - to get these in our hands."

He withdrew his head and stood straight, looking at Harley. "This operation's gotta be really important to you, isn't it?"

Sanford folded his arms across his chest. "Wow. Something coming out of your mouth that doesn't have to do with breasts. I'm astonished."

"C'mon, bud. You should know by now that if I feel like it, I can spew some really useful shit." Deimos winked.

"Then why don't you always get serious like this? I'd honestly like you a lot more that way."

"'Cause." Deimos grinned. "It's more fun pissing you off."

"How is that supposed to help your case?"

Deimos shook his head. "Nah. Just a zinger to piss you off. How's it feel?"

Sanford gritted his teeth. "I'm. Feeling. _Great_."

"Shut the fuck up, both of you," Hank interrupted tersely. He turned to Harley. "Continue."

Harley nodded. "Let's have you boys test your weapons out on the range."

Harley led them to the shooting range nearby. With a flick of a switch, cardboard targets sprung up.

"Shoot each of the three targets in order. Use whichever weapon you prefer."

Hank went up first, choosing his dart pistol. His first shot landed smack in the center of the target's head.

"Hmph," He muttered to himself. The dart guns had a conspicuous lack of recoil due to the low muzzle velocity of the darts.

Hank took advantage of the gun's stability and sent the remaining six darts in his mag into the target's head. Harley stopped him before he could go on to the next target.

"Hank," he started, "Body-shots only, please. I wouldn't want to see what happens when one of these things gets stuck in a baddie's eye."

Hank rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Before Harley could respond, Hank flipped the assault rifle into his hands and fired half of the mag into the two remaining targets' chests, perforating each target with a dozen holes. He shrugged, as if it had taken no effort at all, removed the dart gun's magazine, discharged the chambered round, and flicked on the safety.

"I've seen enough," Hank commented.

Harley rubbed his chin, unsure whether to feel impressed or terrified. "So have I."

After Harley had replaced the three targets with new ones, Sanford came up firing line. Using his own assault rifle, Sanford floored the trigger and mowed down the targets in seconds.

"Sloppy." Hank muttered under his breath.

"These things are so light, it's like carrying water guns." Sanford said as he tested out the reload function.

Deimos grabbed his own assault rifle, rushing towards the range like an excited puppy chasing a car. "I'm next, I'm next!"

He bumped into Sanford, who clenched his fists. "Like a fucking toddler on Christmas Eve…"

Deimos positioned himself, both hands braced on his weapon as he looked down the ironsight. Instead of firing, he raised his head.

"You know what? Screw this, this is too easy for a master marksman."

He turned around to the others. "You guys wanna see something cool?"

"No. Just shoot already." Sanford said, yawning.

"Don't care. Doin' it anyways!"

Deimos turned around, holding the rifle with one hand. He extended his arm.

"One hand!"

Sanford frowned. "Deimos, I'm telling you-"

Deimos fired, his arm flailing like an inflatable tube man as darts flew wildly around the air. Hank and Harley quickly dove to the ground as Sanford, too far from any sort of cover, ducked his face under his arms.

Deimos turned around. "Shit..."

Sanford grabbed the techie by the collar. "Have you lost your GODDAMN MIND?!"

Deimos tried to turn away as Sanford's spit flew at his face, "It's not all my fault! You said it was like shooting a water gun, so I thought I could control-"

"I WAS EXAGGERATING, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"

"Ahem."

Hank's fake cough grabbed everyone's attention. He pointed towards Sanford's arm.

Sanford glanced at his limb.

"Wha…?"

One of Deimos's rogue darts was stuck inside. He glared at Deimos as his vision blurred.

"DEIMOS! YOu fuuhhh...?"

Sanford's grip on Deimos and consciousness loosened. He hit the floor like a rock. Hank began a sarcastic round of applause as Deimos and Harley ran towards Sanford's body.

"Nice one, 'master marksman.'"

"Don't need that shit right now, Hank!" Deimos desperately turned to Harley. "How long until he gets back up?"

Harley pulled the dart out of Sanford's arm. "About three hours. Assuming he's a light sleeper, that is. To be honest, I'm surprised it took that long for the TC-453 to activate. It's usually much quick-"

"Three hours?!" Deimos grabbed at his hair, "That's going to leave us with no time to prepare for the raid! There has to be a way to wake him up faster!"

Harley sighed. "There is. But I promise you, he's not going to like it."

"Just do it. He's probably gone through worse anyways." Hank said.

The police chief turned to him. "... You sure?"

"Yes! We're sure!" Deimos insisted.

"Fine. Your call."

Harley backed away from Sanford's supine form. He looked at the other two.

"Pick his body up. Need to aim this _just_ right…"

* * *

The first thing Sanford saw as he got up from the ground was the seemingly endless sea of immaculate red flowers surrounding him.

"... What?"

He turned his head to his front, jumping as he realized someone had been standing there the entire time.

"Hank?!" Sanford yelled, somewhat relieved, "Where are we?"

Hank smiled widely, almost comically. Sanford took a step back, trying to make more distance between him and his clearly-off roommate.

"Not going to say anything? Alright. So uh... Oh, right, Deimos!" Sanford's eyes flared, "Where's that little shit, I'm going to rip his head right off!"

Hank pulled up his shirt. Sanford screamed, falling backwards.

"Holy shit!"

Deimos's head was sticking out of Hank's stomach. He remained, unfazed as he uttered a single phrase:

"B-cup."

Sanford gaped, speechlessly watching his partners float away into the sky as if they were helium-filled balloons.

Sanford turned back in front of him. He sighed.

A deer standing on two of its feet.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Sanford..." the deer cooed.

"And it talks." Sanford raised his arms in defeat. "Stellar."

"Those flowers..."

Sanford gestured around him. "Yes. Flowers! There's nothing here _but_ flowers!"

"Sniff one..."

Sanford narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Sniff one..."

Sanford crossed his arms. "How about no?"

"SNIFF THE GODDAMN FLOWER!"

Sanford jolted in surprise. With little hesitation, he plucked off a flower and took a large whiff, half-expecting his head to explode at that exact moment.

It smelled... sweet.

"There, I did it," Sanford said.

The deer walked up to him, tilted its head, and sent a direct hit to his groin.

* * *

Sanford squealed, his hands immediately clutching his nether regions. He crumpled onto the ground when Hank and Deimos let him drop to the floor.

Hank nodded in approval. "Solid kick."

"Nngh…" Sanford whimpered, screwing his eyes shut.

"The only immediate way TC-453's effects can be reversed against its victim is by applying a... how do you say it? A powerful external nervous stimuli." Harley explained.

"SO YOU CHOSE MY FUCKING TESTICLES?!" Sanford screamed, still fetal on the ground.

Deimos paled.

"It was either that, or the crack of a baton on your skull. We weren't exactly left with a lot of options, you know." Harley added.

Sanford breathed heavily. "Holy fuck. I feel like I'm gonna hurl…"

The trio standing around him backed away in unison. Sanford glared.

"WELL, FUCK YOU GUYS!"

Sanford's focus shifted towards Deimos. Deimos grinned, his face turning slightly red.

"H-hey… don't look at me like that San, buddy! It wasn't my fault after all, I-I didn't think he'd kick you in the balls! You know I wouldn't have let that happen if I knew!"

"That's because you never bothered to ask how I was going to wake your 'buddy'-"

"LA LA LAAAH! Oh man, I'm really sorry about that!" Deimos quickly shouted over Harley, "I'll make it up to you somehow, I promise, I swear! Cross my heart, hope to die!"

"Deimos," Sanford swallowed before continuing, "I'm going to fucking _eviscerate_ you, do you understand?"

"Ahem." Hank fake-coughed yet again, "So who'll be the unfortunate bastards we'll be testing all this excessively expensive gear on?"

Harley sat in front of his computer, waking it up from digital hibernation into a lock screen. He typed in the password and waited for the computer to load.

"Give it a sec."

Once the desktop appeared, he opened a file labelled "CRIMINAL RECORDS" and entered another password again. A few seconds-worth of sifting eventually opened up a large list of gang names.

 _Click_.

"Here's your first field test."

The three men circled around Harley, staring at the monitor. Various faces flew across the screen as he scrolled down the file.

"These guys call themselves: 'Satan's Pride.' We don't know where they're located at, but I trust you three to find them, take them down, and bring us over to take them to jail. I don't know where you got your information on the Nevada Devils, but quite frankly, the state of this city doesn't exactly leave me in the position to care. Incapacitate these kids."

Deimos looked at Harley and raised a hand. "Why not give us some reinforcements?"

"I assure you whatever men I send there with you three will only slow you down. Reports indicate there's 40 of them in there, at the bare minimum."

Hank guffawed. "Heh. 'Protect and serve'."

"Hank!" Deimos urgently whispered.

Harley swiveled his chair 180 degrees, facing Hank. "You really want to waste your time here spewing wiseass comments against this entire station? Show some damn respect. I'm doing you three a favor."

Hank chuckled. "A favor? Shit, first it's Deimos and then Sanford spewing all this crap about commitments and humanity and shit. And now you _dare_ to speak to me about respect."

Hank looked positively livid. He leaned forwards, his dead eyes mere inches away from Harley's.

"Respect! Let me tell you something about fucking respect, oh high and mighty _Chief_ Harley. You might be doing these two knuckleheads behind me a 'favor,' but don't lump me in with them. I'm not doing this because I care about this pathetic excuse of a fucking city, its incompetent law enforcement agency, or so the corrupt media could verbally suck my dick in public. No, I'm doing this because my life is mundane and insipid without the rush of combat. If you think for a _second_ I'll eat up that shit about you being a rung higher in all this for letting us do _your_ jobs for you, kiss my resurrected ass."

Hank straightened his back, still maintaining eye contact. He lowered his goggles over his eyes, brushed aside his partners and picked up his equipment box as he left. Hoisting it over a shoulder, he stopped just before exiting the office.

"Everyone in this room damn well knows we're the ones doing _you_ the favor. Show _us_ some respect, imbecile."

Hank walked out. Deimos sighed.

"Chief, sorry about that. Hank's been like that a lot recently. We honestly appreciate the opportunity you're giving us here."

"Yeah. What he said." Sanford weakly added, still curled on the floor.

Harley shrugged. "Honestly, I give as much of a damn about his thoughts on me as he does about my thoughts on him. So long as you three follow the rules we agreed to, I don't care. Your buddy's not wrong when he says a successful raid will make our lives easier."

The police chief turned back to his computer.

"I want those 40 bodies by tonight, alive. Oh and uh… put some ice on those tenders, yeah? Haven't kicked that hard since the AAHW tried to take over the station."

* * *

"It's been a while," Augustus greeted them as they walked into the bar. He gestured towards the kegs behind the sole bartender.

"Care for some cheap beer? It's pretty much the only thing the geezer behind the counter serves in this shack, but hey, so long as the alcohol does its job. Destroying regrets and lowering intelligence."

Deimos came and put the briefcase in front of Augustus. "Not today. We're here for, well, you know."

Hank, on the other hand, walked over to the bartender. The old man continued to mechanically scrub away at the same empty glass as the vet sat down in front of him.

"Beer." Hank vaguely ordered.

Augustus grinned at Deimos, pulling the briefcase towards him. "I see you're thirsty for something else."

Deimos reflected Augustus' expression. "Thirsty for many things. You might be able to help me out with that. Mind holding this briefcase for me? I want to make sure it's in good hands."

Augustus handed off the briefcase to a hulking bystander. The man clicked open the locking mechanism and began scanning the contents. After a meticulous visual scrutinization, he gave Augustus a curt nod.

Augustus leaned on his elbows and lowered his voice. "Did you hear the news?"

"About?" Sanford asked.

"There was an incident here where two men walked in and messed with some of the other customers here. Watched the entire thing unfold myself. They got peppered pretty badly by a rival gang."

Augustus faced the bartender. "Isn't that right, 'Keep?"

The scrawny barkeeper stumbled, spilling some of the beverage he was carrying onto Hank's left hand and the table.

"I'm so sorry!" he muttered, hastily dabbing Hank's glove with a tattered dishrag.

Hank raised a hand and shooed him off. He pulled down his mask, drinking half the glass slowly, resisting the urge to spit out the vile-tasting liquid. The vet slapped a crumpled five-dollar bill onto the counter.

"Keep the change. Consider retirement, old man."

"Thank you..." The barkeeper whispered.

Staring at the old man momentarily, Hank walked back towards his two partners, who were focused on Augustus and the map before him.

A bead of sweat raced across the bartender's temple as he looked away.

* * *

"What exactly did he say?" Hank asked Deimos as they exited the bar.

Deimos stared at the ground in front of him, racking his memory. "It's a huge ol' mansion, apparently. There are some electrical fences blocking off any intruders from trespassing, but Augustus said it's a civilian model and entirely computer-managed, so I should have no problem bypassing it. Couldn't help noticing how Augustus was trying to show off though."

"Show off?" Hank asked again.

"Mm. Every other second the dude was saying shit like 'You won't find informants around here like me,' or 'Trust me, I'm the best out there,' or 'I'm only here to help.' Any more ass-kissing and it would've been a porno."

"Of course you'd know a thing or two about pornos…" Sanford suggested.

As his two roommates dwelled into another argument, Hank fell back into his own train of thought.

" _I'm only here to help."_

Hank visualized those words coming out of Augustus' smug lips. His expression became suffused with disgust.

' _The disingenuous bastard. He's obviously up to something. The second he tries this shit again...'_

Images of the bartender flew across his head as well: a broken, unsteady old man. Hank remembered seeing defeat and terror in the barkeeper's rheumatic eyes.

A sheet of uncertainty washed over him, driving his thoughts into silence.

* * *

The trio had to drive to their destination this time, as their targeted gang was located at an entirely different section of the city. Parking a couple of blocks away, they advanced in the shadows, avoiding the pallid illumination of the few working street lamps. It did not take them long to find the mansion.

Augustus' intel was accurate. The rickety mansion loomed a hundred meters away from the trio. Two men stood at guard at either side of the entrance, cradling AR-15s.

Deimos focused his sights on the electronic panel by the gate. "Bypassing this will make climbing the fence a breeze. Hopefully they don't have a control panel overwatching their systems though. I'm pretty sure anyone can tell when your outer defenses go offline something bad's about to happen."

The techie pulled out a thick, rectangular device from his backpack. "That's why I brought this bad boy in."

Sanford pointed at it. "Isn't that the... the thing the eggheads were working on? Whatever it's supposed to be called."

"A P.S.S.? Yep. You're looking at a real Portable Systems Scrambler, baby. But personally, I prefer calling it a Portable Integrated Systems Scrambler, you know, just cause-"

"'Piss.' Yes, haha. You're a mastermind." Sanford drawled.

Deimos pouted. "Fuck you, it was funny at the time. Anyway, this brick's our first-class ticket in there. If I can connect this thing to a proper interface port, it'll force a reboot on all the security protocols in that house. Hopefully it'll be long enough for us to do our business without having to worry about cameras or anything."

Sanford whistled quietly. "Sounds useful, too useful. Why didn't every operative have one of these things during the war?"

Deimos glanced back at his P.I.S.S's tiny screen. "These things were in the prototype stage shortly before the war ended. Technically, this one's incomplete, too, but I managed to implement-"

"Don't know, don't care." Hank said, "Last time I checked, we didn't come here for a digital electronics field trip. How long is that thing going to cause a blackout for?"

"Fifteen seconds. Long enough for us to get in, short enough to avoid any suspicion."

"And the two guards outside?" Hank asked.

Deimos pointed to Hank and Sanford's sniper rifles. Hank nodded.

"Satisfactory. Let's do it. On your mark, Deimos."

As Sanford and Hank positioned themselves on higher ground, Deimos kneeled by the panel, his master device at ready. He activated his headset.

"Alright, I've got my P.I.S.S. in my hands. This is about to get dirty."

Hank could hear Sanford's sigh over the comms as he peered through the scope of his sniper.

"Sanford. They're packing body armor and helmets, so aim for their neck or arms."

Sanford adjusted his aim accordingly. "Good call."

Deimos's headset went alive again. "I'm in. Lights out in three."

Sanford squinted through his scope.

"Two." Deimos counted down.

Hank's finger curled around his trigger.

"One."

 _Beep._

With the press of a digital button, the mansion's lights died out. Sanford and Hank fired almost simultaneously; the darts zipped across the dark landscape. Both guards gasped as the darts jabbed into their necks. One of them yanked out the dart with a grunt, glancing at it momentarily in confusion.

Before they could say a word, they were out cold.

"Fifteen seconds! Go!" Deimos yelled.

As if they were scaling an obstacle course from their training days, the trio climbed over the fence and made a mad dash towards the mansion. They each slipp _ed_ on their night-vision goggles once they were at the front door.

The lights came back to life a second later. Sanford shook his head.

"Shit. That was really fucking close. Can't believe we-"

Hank stuck his arm out in front of Sanford, stopping him from passing. He placed a finger on his own lips, pointing upwards.

Security cameras.

"They're bound to send out reinforcements once they see those bodies lying there." Deimos whispered, "That'll be our ticket in. I take right, Sanford takes left, and Hank cleans up anyone in the center. Easy life."

As if on cue, three more guards burst through the front entrance and towards their two unconscious allies. With a well-placed punch to the back of the head, Hank knocked out one of the guards. He fired at the backs of the other two before they could turn.

"Move!"

Deimos's urgent whisper set them into motion. Sanford had already prepared his attack as he rounded the corner into doorway. Before anyone inside could face the threat, he emptied his magazine into their unarmored backsides. Peppered with darts, the three guards flinched as they clumsily brought their weapons to bear.

Almost simultaneously, the gangsters crumbled to the floor as the TC-453 flooded their bloodstreams.

"Not bad," Sanford commented, nudging one of the unconscious bodies on the floor with his foot.

"We have no time for this," Hank snapped, tossing Sanford a fresh mag. "The quicker we move, the better. Haul ass."

Hank took point with his dart pistol. Deimos followed close second, carrying all the backup dart guns in his pack. Sanford followed up in the rear, cradling an assault rifle.

The group double-timed it up the stairs, clearing the steps two at a time.

Halfway to the second story, Hank heard the creaking of boots on wooden flooring. Someone was climbing down the stairs!

Hank signalled Sanford and Deimos to stop moving. He unclipped his dart pistol from the holster and braced it with both hands. Sure enough, a shadow loomed across the stairwell as the creaking got louder.

He rounded the corner, humming a faint, cheerful tune. Hank's dart pistol emitted a muted _fwip_ as he depressed the trigger. He did not miss.

"Humm dee hm-? GHHRK!"

Hank lunged forwards, catching the guard by the armpits before he fell face-first on the stairs.

 _Clank!_

As he fell, the guard's rifle slipped out of his loosened grip and clattered to the ground. The sound shattered the tomb-like silence.

 _Clank! Clunk! Clank!_

Deimos cringed.

The gun continued its journey down the stairs. The sound seemed far louder than what it should have been. Sanford stamped his foot down on the runaway gun, prematurely ending its journey down the stairwell.

"Huh?" A husky voice called out. "Jorge, what's going on, there? Didja see the intruders?"

Hank unceremoniously dropped the unconscious guard and urgently gestured back down the stairs. It didn't matter how skilled or quick Hank thought he was. He knew that getting caught in a crossfire on this narrow stairwell would be disastrous.

The clattering of the gangsters' footfalls on the floorboards was like the sound of pouring rain on corrugated steel. Orders and voices rang out, rapid fire, from upstairs.

"Jorge? What's wrong? Oi, get up!"

"I heard something! From the stairs!"

"Man down! Get 'em!"

"Identify yourselves!" A cracking voice yelled. One of the guards discharged his firearm, blindly aiming down the stairwell. Hank pushed off his right foot just in time- he could feel the bullet whizzing past his ear a mere centimeter away.

"Shit." Deimos muttered. "Shit, shit, _shit!_ "

Hank leaped down the last seven stairs and handsprung off of the ground, all the while firing accurate shots from his dart pistol. Sanford hurdled over an overturned table and downed a gangster with a single shot from his dart rifle.

Deimos skidded to a halt and, with the fire of wild insanity in his eyes, seized two dart assault rifles from his pack, one in each hand.

"I'M A MOTHERFUCKING MASTER MARKSMAN!" Deimos screamed. "HYAAAH!"

The remaining gangsters stood no chance; as they tumbled through the narrow choke-point, Deimos floored the triggers and mowed them down in a torrential hail of TC-453. Hank dove for cover behind an armchair, while Sanford huddled lower behind his table, both hoping to avoid another episode of friendly fire.

"Deimos!" Sanford tried to yell, poking his head from behind cover "Deimos! Stop shooting! You got them!"

Deimos hit the magazine releases on the assault rifles. He sighed in satisfaction, grinning with relief.

"It's been waaay too long since I've done that."

Hank pointed at Deimos' shoulder.

"What? Oh, right, I know, I've gotta have pretty strong shoulders to be able to shoot so well, right? Well, I've been working out these deltoids in my free-"

Sanford shook his head. "Deimos, you're bleeding."

Deimos' grin evaporated. "Oh, right, that. So, like, when Hank ducked that first bullet, It kept going... straight into me. But don't worry about it! It's totally my fault. I'll be fine."

The Techie took out the first aid kit from his pack and tucked a sterile gauze pad under his coat, over the entrance wound.

Sanford took a step towards Deimos, before Hank pressed a hand on his shoulder.

"Allow me," Hank said.

Hank helped Deimos clean and bind the injury, fastening the gauze pad in place with a crisp dressing and a reef knot.

"Keep the bullet in, for now." Hank advised. "It'll slow the bleeding."

"I know, I know," He rolled his shoulder backwards and sighed. "Shit's going to sting tomorrow when I remove it."

"Remove it? What's the point in that? You'd be better off just leaving the damn thing in there." Sanford advised.

"But those guys in the action movies looked so badass when they did it! You could record it for my video autobiography, and I'm sure it'd get all the girls."

"Welcome to the never-go-through-a-metal-detector-without-it-blaring club."

Sanford sighed. The three looked at the flight of ominous stairs, now covered with unconscious gangsters.

"I didn't count forty bodies. So up we go, I guess..."

* * *

Original A/N: Okay. So chapter nine is done and over with. From a "Bleh" to an "Eh", I give it a "Meh". I want to thank those of you who have been watching this story every step of the way. I'm shocked by how many views and visitors this Fanfiction has after such a short amount of time. Many thanks given out to all of you guys! Chapter 10 is, of course, coming your way. Later! Reviews help me a lot!

* * *

New A/N (7/16/16): You know what sucks? Back pain.

You know what also sucks? This story before it was edited.

Seriously, I need to keep a bank of some of the quotes from the old version here; it blows my mind as to how lazy I used to get with some of these descriptions. At some points during the rewrite, 2012-me left so little details about certain scenes that Alias and I pretty much had no idea as to what I was visualizing originally. So from a "Bleh" to an "Eh," I give the original chapter a "cringe," lol.

Alright, let's get into the Changelog.

* * *

 _ **Changelog:**_

1 - Hank and Harley dynamic made more tense. Our douchey gun ninja has no respect for the law, I tell ya.

2 - Reworked the entrance combat scene into the "Satan's Pride" mansion. The old version was incredibly vague and cliche. Kudos to Alias for his narrative touch.

3 - Added the "P.I.S.S." device. I'm very proud of it and the puns. ;)

4 - More description added.

5 - Grammatical errors removed.

6 - Narration and dialogue improved.

7 - Diction enhanced.

8 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

And that wraps it up! I do admit, I had a lot of fun especially on the part where Hank goes off on Harley. It feels like it fits better into the context of the story and… well, it just feels great watching one dude roast another guy in front of his pals, lol.

But boy, am I going to REALLY love editing the next chapter. Those of you who read this story before probably know why, but I won't spoil it for any newcomers. Trust me though, every part of it is going to be fucking _legendary_.

Nothing much else to say, other than thank you all for reading (or re-reading)! 9 chapters down, 28 more to go (holy fuck…)!

[Alias: I don't know how much more of this I can handle. Next thign you know sentences in the passive voice will be written by me I'll start making stupid spelling errors in my run-on setneces.]

We hope you enjoyed this revised chapter of Final Salvation! See you in the next one!

~Spirit


	10. Patricide

Chapter 10: Patricide

* * *

"GUH!" The last gangster gasped as Hank side-kicked him towards his boss's table. The head mobster yelped, watching as his final line of defense crumbled to the ground right before him.

"I-I don't know what you monsters want, but leave me the fuck out of it!" He shouted from beneath his desk, flailing his pistol.

Hank flipped the table over the leader's head, leaving the man completely exposed. As Hank shoved the muzzle of his dart pistol onto the man's forehead, the criminal nervously grinned.

"... Please?"

Hank rolled his eyes. "You people really are all the same, huh? I can't even be bothered to laugh about it anymore."

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

"Want one?"

Hank turned to Deimos, who was offering him a cigarette. He shook his head.

Deimos lit the smoke and rolled it between his fingers. "Suit yourself. You don't know what you're missing."

"Yeah, free cancer. Wish I was invited to that party."

"Oh, piss off. I offered you one just cause I would've thought you'd be, you know, more stressed out for… tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

Deimos blinked in surprise. Hank _forgot_ something and he wasn't even making an attempt to hide it?

"You know… your _date_?"

Hank blinked twice, then rubbed the sides of his head, visibly frustrated. "Oh yeah. Great. I've been actively trying to forget that shitfest. There goes all my progress."

Sanford returned the cellphone to Deimos.

"The cops will be here in a few minutes." Sanford said.

Deimos nodded, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. He kneeled over the unconscious gang leader, who had started foaming at the mouth.

"Uh… is that supposed to happen?"

* * *

"Just fantastic." Harley held his temples as he watched the gang leader being carried off in a stretcher. "You managed to give the most important person in that entire mansion a mild seizure. Didn't I specifically tell you _not_ to shoot anyone in the head?"

Sanford and Deimos glanced at Hank.

"Oops," Hank shrugged, unapologetic, "My finger must have slipped."

Harley sighed. "Please follow all the instructions I gave next time? I'll overlook this 'accident,' considering you three managed to take down the rest of the 40 punks inside that house. Thanks for your service tonight. Now let me take care of the rest."

The trio returned to their own vehicle as the group of squad cars and paddy wagons sped away. The sun was already rising, painting the sky a rich vermillion hue.

"Deimos?" Sanford asked just before they sat down.

Deimos turned to Sanford. "Yeah?"

Sanford landed a direct front kick towards Deimos's groin. The techie crumpled, his hands between his legs as a small squeak escaped his lips.

Hank nodded in approval. "Solid kick."

Deimos clutched himself. "M-my master… marksman balls..."

Sanford crossed his arms. "Serves you right."

"Not… even a goddamn warning…?" Deimos whimpered.

Sanford grinned. "Nah. Just a zinger to piss you off. How's it feel?"

"Rrgh… Fuck you, asshole!"

As Hank started up the car, Sanford stood over Deimos, grinning.

"Don't worry. I have a way to make you feel better."

Before Deimos could protest, Sanford seized the dart pistol from his holster and plugged Deimos in the leg.

* * *

The metal bedframe squealed in protest as Sanford threw himself onto his mattress. He raised his head, gazing at the clock on his nightstand.

2:37 AM.

He sank his face into his pillow. Exhaustion began to quickly wash over him.

"You're not even going to take a shower? How sanitary."

Sanford turned on his side with a frustrated sigh.

"Go away, Hank."

"I'd love to, but," Hank dropped a snoring Deimos off his shoulders, "I'm not dealing with this idiot over here. You take care of him."

"What? Why the fuck am I responsible?"

"Are you seriously asking that question?"

Sanford turned away from Hank, waving him off. "Fine. Maybe it's my fault. Too tired to give a shit. Do whatever."

"I hope you realize I'm not a nurse."

After a short moment of silence, Hank begrudgingly pulled Deimos out of Sanford's room by the ankles. A few minutes later, Sanford felt his grip on consciousness blissfully loosen, until-

"A-AHH! SWEET BABY… JEBUS! Hank? Hank! What... why is all this rope-!"

"You said you wanted the bullet out of your shoulder, right? Hold still."

"Are those pliers? Why the hell are you using _pliers_? Did you even fucking clean them?!"

"Shh. The camera's over there. Don't want to look too wimpy for your future audience, now, would you? On the count of three. One..."

"Nonon- AIEEEEeeeeee!"

"Here comes the staple gun!"

"OHGODNO-"

"SHUT UP!" Sanford shouted, bursting through the doorway to his room. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"You brought this on yourselves!" Hank's voice was tinged with uncharacteristic mirth.

"FUCK OFF, HANK!"

As the two were left in silence, Sanford returned back to his room. He threw himself onto his bed again, wrapping the pillow around his head to block out as much sound as possible.

* * *

"Hi."

Sanford jolted out of sleep, the back of his head hitting the wall beside him. He cussed, clutching his throbbing scalp.

"I guess that's an effective way of waking yourself up. Albeit primitive."

"GET-" Sanford started, before lapsing into a coughing fit.

"Get out of my room, Hank!" Sanford hoarsely continued.

"Wow, how rude. How do they say it? 'The early bird catches the worm?' I was just doing you a favor, buddy."

Sanford grabbed his digital clock, thrusting it into Hank's face. His exhaustion soon turned to rage.

"It's 5 in the morning! I've only slept for… Two hours and a half? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"One question at a time. You slept for an hour, nineteen minutes, fifty seconds. As for what's wrong with me?" Hank shook a finger, "Tsk, tsk. Did you forget our little agreement so soon?"

Sanford was speechless. Suddenly, he remembered.

"You… You're not fucking serious, are you?"

"I think you know the answer to that rhetorical question."

Sanford turned over on his bed, tossing his blanket back on top of him. "At least give me one more hour, you prick."

"Oh no… I've been stood up. Just as I predicted." Hank said, trying to mimic Cathy's voice, "If only Sanford had kept to his promise. Why would he be so mean as to lie-?"

"You're a piece of human shit, you know that?" Sanford said, forcing himself off his warm mattress, "No joke."

"Someone told me once that I'm not human. I wonder who? Now get cooking."

Cursing to himself, Sanford trudged towards the kitchen. Tossing a frying pan onto the stove, he was ready.

Sanford glared at Hank. "Whaddya want? Toast? Omelets? An actual fucking steak?"

"Lobster."

Sanford stared at Hank in complete disbelief. He clenched his fists.

"Do I look like the type of motherfucker who'd buy lobster for breakfast?"

"Don't worry," Hank opened the fridge, revealing the near-bursting stash of food tucked inside. Sanford's jaw dropped in horror.

"While you were asleep, I bought all the ingredients."

Sanford grabbed the wriggling lobster from the fridge, in disbelief. Its claws were banded together, at the very least.

"You want me to cook a whole lobster at 4 in the morning? You… I…"

Sanford hesitated, shaking the lobster as if doing so would emphasize his points. He grunted.

"Fine. This is gonna be a huge waste, especially if we're not gonna wake up Deimos for it."

Hank grinned. "Great timing! Almost comedic, in fact. I got that covered, too."

What sounded like dozens of different alarm clocks blared in Deimos' room. The cacophony was immediately followed by Deimos screaming and falling off the side of his bed. Hank nodded to himself.

"... there we go."

Hank heard Deimos stomping and across his room, loudly swearing. One by one, the alarm clocks hit the floor.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, SANFORD?!" Deimos shouted, storming towards his partner, "WHO THE FUCK LEAVES TEN ALARM CLOCKS AROUND ANOTHER PERSON'S BED?! HOW LONG DO YOU PLAN ON TORTURING ME MAN?!"

"That was me." Hank said.

Deimos' sleep-deprived eyes slowly turned towards Hank. He grabbed him by the collar.

"Why?" Deimos said, his voice hoarse, "First my balls, then my shoulder, now my beauty sleep?"

Hank's hand clamped onto Deimos' wrist and twisted it until it wouldn't twist any further.

"Hands off."

Deimos grit his teeth, trying to hide the pain of having his wrist near dislocated.

"Okay, okay. Asshole."

"I'm the asshole?" Hank said, placing a hand on his chest in sarcastic shock, "I've invited you to enjoy some lobster, prepared by Chef Sanford, and that's how you see me?"

Deimos looked at Sanford, his face scrunching up in confusion. His face lit up in realization.

"Oh! The bet! Wait, are you seriously going to boil a lobster-?"

"He'll drizzle on butter glaze and garnish it with ceviche, too."

"No I… Shut up and sit down," Sanford snapped, slamming a large boiling pot into the sink. "I can't believe this shit."

Just as Sanford had his hand over the faucet, Hank interrupted him.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Sanford bit his lower lip.

"Yes, I heard you. Butter glaze and ceviche. I'll get on that after-"

Hank pulled out a wrapped package from beneath the kitchen table. "Did you really think I'd forget?"

"NO!" Sanford slammed his hands on the counter, "That's too goddamn far! I am not going to humiliate myself just because you want to be a fucking-"

"Gee… it looks like Sanford lied about the date all along." Hank's tried to copy Cathy's voice again, "Maybe I should write a follow-up article on how untruthful and cruel he was to me, so the rest of the city can see-"

"Fine!" Sanford yelled at the top of his lungs, "Fine, fine, FINE!"

Sanford yanked the package out of Hank's hands, storming out of the room.

Deimos looked genuinely impressed. "Shit. I've never seen him that upset before. What'd you make him do, Hank?"

"You have your phone on you?"

Deimos pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. "Yeah, why?"

"Get your camera ready."

Deimos raised an eyebrow. He shrugged to himself, booting a game of chess on his phone to pass the time. Footsteps approached from outside the kitchen doorway a couple of minutes later, though it was too dark for Deimos to see Sanford clearly.

"Took you long enough. Chop chop. You got a lobster to boil." Hank said.

Sanford stood stock-still in the darkness. Hank smirked.

"Don't be shy now. Or do I have to remind you what will happen if you keep stalling?"

Without a word, Sanford stepped out of the darkness and into the light. The moment Deimos' eyes registered what was in front of him, he dropped his phone. Only three words could slowly escape his lips:

"No. Fucking. WAY."

Before the two was Sanford, in all of his glory, wearing a maid costume.

Hank snickered. "Fits like a maid's glove."

Deimos on the other hand, picked up his phone and began taking photos like a madman. His face was turning just as red as Sanford's.

"HOLY SHIT, THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING!" The techie screamed, as he took his 19th snapshot.

Sanford slowly raised his gaze from the ground, meeting Hank's eyes.

"I hope you choke on the lobster."

"Well that's not gonna happen if you don't cook it first," Hank gestured towards the stove. "Move your frilly ass."

In total silence, Sanford forced himself to walk back towards the sink. He placed his hand around the faucet and turned the handle.

"By the way, try not to bend over if you can," Hank added from the kitchen table, "Judging by the sight of your legs, you don't shave all that often, huh?"

The faucet handle snapped off in Sanford's hand. He grabbed the live lobster with the other hand...

"HAAAAAAA!"

… and proceeded to scrub the life out of the crustacean while screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Stop yelling," Hank advised, grinning. "You'll wake the neighbors."

"We don't even have neighbors, you half-dead prick!"

* * *

"Here!"

After a good half hour of cooking, Sanford dropped a steaming plate of lobster on the kitchen table.

"Would ya look at that?" Hank rested his head to his side, taking a closer look at the platter. "You even put three lemons around it. Almost feels like I'm eating at a five-star restaurant."

"I'm honored. Now eat this fucking thing, so I can wash the dishes and go back to bed."

Hank removed his gloves. With a few intricate twists, he immediately found the meat and scooped it out with a fork. Deimos drooled as he watched Hank place a forkful into his mouth.

Sanford crossed his arms. "Well?"

As he chewed, Hank nodded in approval. "Not bad. But… it doesn't taste like anything."

Sanford's left eye twitched. "What."

Hank got up from his seat, walking over to the sink. "Eh. I was expecting it to actually taste like something. Whatever, take the rest."

After quickly washing his hands, Hank exited the kitchen. Sanford tossed his maid cap to the ground stomping on it repeatedly.

"Uh… San?"

Sanford glared at Deimos.

"WHAT."

"I-I didn't exactly have any dinner yesterday, so uh," Deimos pointed at the lobster, "I can eat that… maybe?"

"Do whatever the fuck you want," Sanford said, kicking the now-crumpled maid cap to the side, "see what I care. I'm going to fucking bed!"

And with that, Sanford stormed off. Deimos pulled out a fresh fork from a nearby cabinet. He took a forkful of lobster meat, falling back onto his seat as he closed his eyes in ecstasy.

"Mm… Damn, this is good."

* * *

8 hours later, Hank was awake again. His first move was towards the kitchen, where he made himself a simple bowl of cereal.

With a flick of the remote, the TV came alive. The first image that appeared was a reporter shoving a microphone towards Harley's face.

" _Chief Harley, what are the details you can give us regarding this groundbreaking occurrence?"_

Harley scratched the back of his head. " _There's not much that can be disclosed regarding the incident as of now, but it is confirmed that all known members of the Satan's Pride gang are in captivity, including their leader."_

" _Were Hank, Sanford, and Deimos responsible for the capture of these criminals as well?"_ Another reporter asked.

" _Yes. The three men had contacted our station at around midnight, giving us the coordinates of their raid. The members of Satan's Pride were found unconscious with no lasting injuries suffered."_

" _Is law enforcement coordinating with any of the three men in any way?"_ A third reporter asked.

" _No,"_ Harley quickly answered, " _as far as I know, nobody in this police department has anything to do with any of the three."_

" _Chief Harley, bystanders reported that-"_

" _I would love to stay and chat, but there are papers I have to-"_

Reporters swarmed towards Harley as he made his exit, while officers blockaded them. The din drowned out any further speech.

" _Chief Harley refused to comment on any further questions, claiming that he needed to fill some important papers,"_ The anchorman continued. " _Up next: Analysts evaluate former Killer's possible connections with the criminal underworld?"_

"Pfft," Hank flipped off the screen. "'Former killers,' he says. As if we've forgotten how to kill so soon."

Hank turned to Deimos, who had seemingly passed out on his chair.

"Deimos. Deimos? Wake the fuck up."

Deimos snorted, wiping the drool coming out of his mouth. "Hnnkk- Wha?"

"You were asleep."

Deimos laid his head back and stared blankly at the ceiling. "Yeah. Yeah, I was."

"The Anti-AAHW must've toned down the training for you newbies. Can't even last a single day without sleep? Pathetic."

"Don't care," Deimos yawned, closing his eyes again. "Wake me in an hour."

"I'm going for a workout, but I'll be back before the date. Make sure you tell Sanford that, else he'll get his maid panties in a twist."

"Mhm."

And with that, Deimos slipped back into unconsciousness. Hank sneered as he watched drool continue to ooze out of his housemate's mouth.

"Disgusting…"

As if someone had thrown a flashbang towards his face, the first thing Hank was greeted by outside his door were the bursts of light from a dozen different cameras. A fusillade of microphones were shoved towards his face.

"Mr. Wimbleton! Is it true that you and your comrades have had no relation with Chief Harley or any other part of the local police force?"

"What is your motive behind targeting these local gangs?"

"Are the three of you going to resume your attacks? If so, do you have any idea as to which group you're heading for next?"

"What is your take on the current state of Nevada regarding crime?"

Hank felt a migraine taking root inside his head.

" _You couldn't answer the reporters yourself, so you decided to make it my problem, huh Harley,"_ Hank thought to himself, " _Fuck you."_

Hank clenched his fist. His knuckles emitted five subtle, dangerous cracks. He reached under his coat. The mob fell silent as Hank's hand re-emerged, holding a pistol.

"This is my handgun," Hank explained, his voice calm, yet clear. "I purchased it two years ago, with my own money, and have been religiously cleaning and maintaining it ever since. This particular model is a Beretta 92 FS. Polymer-metal construction. Italian. I can tell you from experience that it is a reliable performer in the battlefield."

He flipped the gun in his hand and thumbed the magazine release. The reporters closest to Hank looked increasingly nervous as the mag slid out a few inches, brass casings glinting in the morning sun.

"It fires 9 millimeter parabellum rounds. It is believed by many, me included, that this round is capable of causing remote incapacitating effects on soft tissues: A hit on the chest could cause hemorrhages in the brain, for instance. Each bullet is fired with a muzzle velocity of almost four hundred meters per second- which is to say, if the gun is properly suppressed, the bullet will strike its target before the target even registers the sound profile of the bullet."

Hank slapped the magazine back into the magwell with a decisive click. A young man with a microphone flinched at the sudden sound.

"This magazine is loaded with seventeen live rounds of match-grade ammunition. I also carry with me, at all times, three extra magazines. An experienced marksman, like me, can make a two-inch grouping with this gun at a distance of up to fifty meters."

He slipped the handgun back into his coat, gave the crowd a withering glare, and watched the reporters nervously back away.

"Thank you for your time," Hank concluded.

The reporters gave Hank a wide berth as he made his way across the street. They didn't attempt to follow him as he walked around the street corner and out of sight.

* * *

Hank realized that his speech had drained him; it was the most he had spoken for in weeks. He double timed it to the gym, avoiding the curious gazes of passers-by.

Upon reaching the studio, Hank passed his gym membership card to the front desk.

"Hey Hank," the man behind the front desk greeted, "Here to gym-timidate my other customers again?"

"They're just not pushing themselves hard enough, Jeff."

As Jeff scanned him in, Hank noticed the gym was far more crowded than he remembered from his last visit. Some of the members stopped mid-set, chattering to each other as they noticed the veteran walk in.

"Full house," Hank noted.

"Yeah," Jeff replied, "I've had a sudden boom of people flooding in here around the same time you finished your first raid. My guess: a lot more people are getting excited about the crazy stunts you're pulling off. Feels like New Year's all over again with all these new memberships."

Hank stared back at the crowd, murdering all conversation. A few of the members shied away from his line of sight. Many more stood their ground and returned Hank's stare, wearing masks of confusion or fear or awe.

Jeff passed Hank his gym card.

"Don't sweat it too much, Hank. Think of it this way: you're Nevada's muscular idol! Pretty exciting, doesn't it?"

Hank pocketed the card while maintaining eye-contact with the other members until they finally turned their attention back to their own routines.

"Got too much attention as it is," Hank said, marching into the room amongst the metallic clanking of weights and the rhythmic thumping of shoes on treadmills.

* * *

Sanford paced back and forth in the living room. He glanced back at the digital clock by the TV; 5 PM.

Hearing the front door open, Sanford stood, confronting Hank face-to-face.

"Where the Hell were you?"

Hank closed the door behind him. "At the gym. Didn't Deimos tell you?"

Sanford crossed his arms. "He did, but you're telling me that you worked out for _five_ hours?"

"No. I spent three walking around the neighborhood."

Sanford pointed at the clock. "Your date. Is in. AN HOUR."

Hank brushed past Sanford.

"Fifty five minutes, thirty four seconds, and counting. I'll be fine."

"You're not 'fine.'"

"I am," Hank insisted.

"You just hit the gym! Aren't you going to take a shower before your date? Isn't that common sense?"

"Okay, so I lied about the walking around part. I was actually reading one of the dating advice books I appropriated from Deimos's room. One of the chapters claimed that women find a man who smells like sweat attractive."

Sanford stared at Hank, half-expecting him to admit he was joking. He didn't.

Sanford gripped at the sides of his head. "Deimos's dick is drier than the fucking Sahara! Why would you take _any_ kind of dating advice from him?!"

"I heard that!"

Deimos stood at the front door, holding two large bags on each hand. He glared at Hank. "You touched my stuff?"

Hank raised his hands in concession. "Alright. I lied about reading the book, too. Still, I barely sweat at all-"

"Whoa, wait," Deimos interrupted, "You're going to a date without taking a shower?!"

"Exactly!" Sanford agreed.

Deimos cringed. "Bro, you should at least quickly rinse, or something. 'Cause otherwise, that's seriously fucking gross…"

"I find that ironic coming from you," Hank quipped.

"Go take a damn shower, for God's sake," Sanford pointed back at the digital clock in the living room, "You have fifty minutes left!"

"Fine. Am I supposed to shave my pubes while I'm at it?"

"GO!" Sanford and Deimos shouted in unison.

One of Deimos' bags soared across the air. Hank stuck an arm out and caught it by the handle.

"...And put this on while you're at it!" Deimos added.

* * *

Sanford stood outside of Hank's room, impatiently tapping his left foot on the floorboards. He glanced over at the clock for the umpteenth time.

5:45 PM.

"Yo! How long do you two plan on staying in there for?!" Sanford yelled through the wooden door.

"Hang on, he's almost done!" Deimos called back.

"Almost done," Sanford turned towards the door, preparing to knock once again. "He's already wasted three-fourths of the last hour he has, and he's _almost_ don-?!"

 _Thunk!_

Deimos peeked around the corner and saw Sanford reeling, eyes watering, clutching at his nose where the door had struck it.

"I said he was almost done..."

"Shut up, Deimos!"

Sanford wiped the tears out of his eyes in time to see Hank leaving the bathroom.

For the first time in months, Hank wore something other than a Greyshirt or his combat attire. He had donned a black, short-sleeved t-shirt with navy blue jeans. A pair of sunglasses sat on his face, covering some of the scars crisscrossing his cheekbones.

"Wow," was the only word that escaped Sanford's lips.

"Spent my entire afternoon getting these clothes. Considering how much attention Hank would catch with his usual setup, this outfit should help make him look like a total stranger," Deimos faced Hank, "You're welcome, by the way."

"Huh. Who would've thought you had a taste in fashion, Deimos," Sanford said.

"You bet your ass I do," Deimos pointed towards Hank's shirt, "See this? Parco Molo, motherfucker."

Deimos crouched and pointed at Hank's jeans, "False Religion jeans. Even the fucking _belt_ is brand-name. Import tax for this shit is through the roof, but it's hell of a lot better-looking than some plain old Greyshirt! This entire getup cost me a few hundred, but it's grade-A sexiness. Girls go head-over-heels for this sort of shit, ya know?"

"Now if only you had a brain to top that off…" Sanford muttered.

"I should go," Hank interrupted.

Sanford checked the time again. 5:50.

"You have ten minutes left," Sanford urged, pushing Hank towards the front door, "Come on, let's go, I'll drive!"

"Nine minutes, fifteen seconds and counting. The park's only three klicks away." Hank tugged at his collar, clearly uncomfortable in the loose clothing.

"I'll make it," Hank added.

"You're telling me you can clear ten blocks in ten minutes?" Sanford asked.

Hank walked out of the front door. "I might be late. Big deal."

Sanford sighed. Hank turned to him.

"Look. You and Deimos wasted enough of your own time. Stop worrying. You upheld your promise? I'll be damned if I don't uphold mine. I can handle the rest myself. Always have."

With slight hesitation, Sanford gave in. "Fine. I'll take your word for it."

The door slammed shut. Sanford covered his face with his hands, groaning.

"This is going to be a disaster…"

Deimos clasped a hand on Sanford's shoulder, chuckling.

"Four steps out of the door and you already lost faith in him? Some friend you are."

"I didn't have any 'faith' to lose in the first place! This man told us thirty minutes ago that women like the smell of sweat."

Sanford leaned on the doorframe, holding his temples. "I need a goddamn Aspirin..."

Deimos's grin widened, his eyes glinting.

"I figured you'd think that. So I bought this."

"What's in there?" Sanford asked, without giving the bags a glance.

"The other bag I brought in here was Hank's outfit," Deimos shook the bag he held, "This one's ours."

* * *

Hank strode through the entranceway of the park. The sun was already making its descent; he would have to move swiftly if he wanted to find Cathy before it got dark.

The veteran made his way up the large hill that stood in the center of the area. The height advantage should make the search easier, but that proved to be unnecessary.

Under the scarred oak, on the very same bench Hank liked to sit on at night, was Cathy.

Hank strode through the park, tangible as an apparition. He took a seat next to Cathy, leaning on his knees.

"Hi."

Cathy stiffened in surprise. Once she identified who had greeted her, she quickly stood, her cheeks pinking. "S-sorry! I didn't recognize you at first! I also didn't think you'd, well..."

"I didn't really have much of a choice," Hank said.

"Oh. That's alright, you didn't have to force yourself. I honestly wouldn't have minded too much if you didn't show up." Cathy replied.

"You say that as if you expected me not to show," Hank said.

Cathy nervously laughed, while Hank stood, watching as she dusted off her white sundress. It seemed brand-new and meticulously picked to match with her white leather sandals.

She looked back up at him. "But… since you're here, it wouldn't hurt to at least go with planned, would it?"

Hank shrugged. "Suppose not."

Cathy smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. There's an ice cream vendor down the hill. Want some?"

"I know the owner," Hank said. "He used to be a chef at the Headquarters. He might be able to give us a discount."

"Really? That's awesome! We should totally…"

* * *

"I honestly can't believe I agreed to this," Sanford said, lowering his head in shame as he glanced at his grandma costume. "The maid thing was already enough cross-dressing for a lifetime."

"Relax! Think of it this way: right now, we're Hank's wingmen! With us two following him around, his chances of scoring that blonde will double- no, _triple_ after tonight's-!"

"Deimos, I know damn well you're here just to spy on the bastard."

"And so are you. Hypocrite."

"I'm here because I spent my morning preparing a dish he didn't bother taking two fucking bites out of. I deserve to know where my investment's going."

"Don't know how that makes you not a spy, but _oookay_ …" Deimos said, turning away.

"It does. You're just here to get in that girl's pants." Sanford tugged at his disguise. "Anyways, why the Hell do I have to be the one wearing this granny costume?"

"Two reasons. One: two old men randomly sitting on a park bench together is fucking weird. Two: I have too much dignity to spare to be the grandma. So shut up and start acting… old."

* * *

Cathy and Hank walked down the hillside. Hank held a cone of vanilla-flavored ice cream in one hand, while Cathy held a strawberry-flavored one.

"...And then I said: 'I'm the one with the English degree, not you Paul!'" Cathy ranted on, waving her ice cream in the air like a wand.

"Mhm," Hank replied.

"I mean, this guy from the photography department had the moxie to actually criticize my work! Can you believe it?"

"No. No I can't."

"Right?! Honestly, people need to know their places in the office. Otherwise, we'd never get a single paper published for-!"

Cathy froze, her dessert hitting Hank in the chest. Hank looked down at his freshly-stained shirt.

"Hmph..." He muttered to himself.

Cathy covered her mouth with her free hand, still staring to her front, "Oh my gosh."

Hank bit his lower lip. "What?"

Cathy tugged at Hank's arm, pointing towards a nearby bench. "Look at those two! Aren't they adorable? I'm such a sucker for old love!"

Hank looked at the supposedly old couple sitting on the bench. Even though he and Cathy only had a side-view of the "elders," he immediately recognized his two roommates.

"Of course those two imbeciles are here…"

Cathy faced Hank with raised eyebrows, "You know them?"

"I honestly wish I didn't."

* * *

"Holy shit, they noticed us," Sanford whispered, turning his head away from Cathy, "Your fucking disguise didn't work, Deimos!"

"Like I said before San, relax," Deimos pulled out a plastic bag full of bread crumbs, tossing them on the gravel in front of them, "Keep your head down and we'll be fine from a distance."

The newfound sound of cooing caught Sanford's attention. He looked down in front of him.

Pigeons, ravenously pecking at the bread.

"Deimos! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

Deimos threw another handful of bread towards the growing horde of birds. "Isn't it obvious? I'm feeding birds. Used to do this all the time when I was a lil' kid… ah, memories!"

"Have you completely lost your mind?!"

"What? You don't honestly believe in that 'do not feed the birds' bullshit, do you? This is clean, plain bread. It's fine. This is all part of the disguise-"

"Don't you know? Most of the pigeons were fucking hunted to death during the war! The surviving ones are… well, they're different, or something, I don't know. I read it somewhere. Just stop before it gets any worse!"

"Oh hoh, the mighty Sanford's scared of pigeons, now, too!"

Sanford grabbed towards the bag. "Give me the bag, Deimos!"

"Rrgh! Stoppit, you're gonna give us away!"

* * *

Cathy blushed. "Aww, look! Now they're holding hands! That's so romantic!"

Hank crossed his arms, unamused.

* * *

Like children fighting over a toy, the duo continued to wrestle over the bag.

"DEI... I MEAN, DEAREST, GIVE IT BACK!"

"NO, KINDLY GO FUCK YOURSELF, HONEY!"

 _SH-RIIP!_

The bag split in half, its contents exploding all over the bench.

* * *

Cathy squinted. "Is that... Bread?"

Hank shrugged. "They're not worth my- they're not worth _our_ time. We should leave."

* * *

"Way to go, asshole," Deimos shouted, "You just have to keep ruining my fun, don't you-?"

"Deimos."

Deimos followed Sanford's stare, meeting the gazes of the pigeons in front of them.

They weren't cooing.

"Oh, fuck," Deimos muttered.

Sanford sighed.

"Told you… we've got a fight on our hands."

* * *

Half a second later, Cathy watched in horror as two dozen birds flew towards the "couple," pecking at them mercilessly. She passed her ice cream to Hank in a hurry, causing the cone to smudge on his shirt.

"We have to help them!" The reporter shouted, rushing towards the two men.

Hank watched from a distance, an ice cream cone in each hand.

* * *

"OH GOD, WHY?!" Deimos screamed, hands wildly swatting at the birds scrambling all over him and his partner.

Amidst the chaos, Sanford saw Cathy running towards them.

"Deimos! That reporter chick is running towards us! What the fuck do we do?!"

"Book it!" Deimos yelled.

"Book it?!"

"BOOK IT!"

* * *

Cathy chased after the two in a dead sprint. "H-hey! Are you two okay?!"

A minute later, she found herself with her hands on her knees, bent over. The duo were long gone.

"Since when... were old people _this_ fast?" Cathy said, in-between gasps.

"Here," Hank said, handing Cathy her cone.

Cathy took the cone from his hands, standing upright, "The grandma sounded awfully masculine though…"

She attempted a lick at the ice cream, only to realize half of the scoop was plastered on Hank's shirt. "Huh? Oh. You spilled some of it on yourself."

Cathy removed some wadded napkins from her pocket and deposited them in Hank's half-clenched hand. "Here, take these."

Hank reluctantly dabbed at his shirt. "Thanks, I suppose."

"It's getting dark. Let's go back up the hill, I promise you'll love the view."

"I know-"

Hank found himself speaking to the night. Cathy was ascending the hill, confidently navigating the trail. She turned and beckoned at Hank to follow. He sat down beside her, watching as she looked up to the cloudless sky.

"I used to do this a lot when I was a girl. I always wanted to make sure it was never left alone on nights like these, after all."

"It?" Hank asked.

Cathy pointed upwards, "The moon. It's strange when you think about it. Something so beautiful ends up being so lonely when the stars aren't out."

"I guess."

Cathy's smile faded away, her eyes still fixated on the moon.

"You know, I did promise I wasn't going to ask you any questions like an interview, but… there is something I want to know, just for myself. Is it alright for me to ask?"

Hank shrugged. "If you want."

"How did it feel like to… you know…"

"To what?"

"... End someone's life?"

Guilt washed over the reporter like a tidal wave as the silence that followed stung at her.

"I'm sorry. That was probably insensitive of me to ask."

"Nothing."

Cathy faced the veteran again, "Sorry?"

"You don't feel anything after a while," Hank explained, his eyes distant, "other than the kick of the gun in your hands. The only thing that mattered back then was that you were alive and the other guy wasn't. Does that answer your question?"

Cathy turned away. "Yes. It was just… I wanted to know how my father and brother felt in the war too."

"They were conscripted, I'm guessing."

She nodded slowly. "I knew my father for only the first ten years of my life. Strict, but loving. Busy, yet always full of life. And my brother, Daniel, stuck around for only a little while longer. He was like my father, but he was a bit… troubled. He had a hard time controlling his emotions ever since he was a child, though my father was always there to calm him down."

Cathy looked up. "The reality was, our family was already falling apart from the start. My father's business was failing and the bills seemed to stack to the ceiling. Taxes were mounting higher and higher, so his only option to keep his family in a house was to enlist.

"That's how the AAHW got everyone back then. They'd target all the struggling families and suck out anyone they could for the war effort against quote, 'terrorism,' end quote. The irony was that the only terrorists I could find were the same people who were supposedly protecting us. The same people who took my father and ended up getting him killed for a cause he didn't believe in.

"They say it takes a while for you to get over the loss of a loved one. Looking back, I've come to realize that it really depends. Sometimes, like my mother and I, you find another road in the darkness and you move on. But sometimes, like Daniel… you don't."

The sun was no longer visible in the distance. Fireflies began to light up the field in front of them, appearing one-by-one as if out of thin air.

After a few more seconds of complete silence, Cathy spoke.

"My brother didn't just need a father. His _sanity_ depended on it. At first, Daniel had his usual episodes. Banging the walls, crying, and screaming… every single night, it sounded like someone was being murdered in his room."

"It got so bad that at one point, we had to hold him against his bed. Anything my mother and I said to him didn't seem to matter, because for some reason, his father was the only person he'd listen to. We didn't have the luxury to afford a therapist or anything either, so the cycle just kept going, and going, and going, and going, and going, until… he just _stopped_."

Cathy stared out into the distance, her focus lost, "Everything changed from then on out. I don't know what happened to my brother, but Daniel was gone. His sympathy and his determination… it was almost as if he had just forgot all of it. He started lashing out, getting in trouble at school, losing touch with everything that mattered."

She shook her head. "I… don't honestly remember much afterwards, but what I can recall was that he had gotten himself arrested one night. My mother must have gotten herself mixed somewhere in the mess, because the next morning, she was bruised and bleeding. The night after, he came back… only to just say goodbye and go off."

"As you'd expect, my mom begged him to stop at the front door. She grabbed at his legs, crying, but Daniel kicked her away. I don't know what they did to him, but… well, the moment I saw him do that, I realized what little that was left of him before was gone. Haven't seen him since."

Cathy straightened her back, sighing. "The rest of the story is pretty generic. I found myself working hard at school and landed myself a great job as a writer for the Nevadan Times a couple of years ago. It's everything I need, nothing more, nothing less. Helps pay off my mother's hospital bills and keeps my mind on other things that matter in the world."

She met Hank's face, putting on her smile once again. "... You know, I think I've said more than enough. Sorry if I got too carried away."

Hank blankly stared at the horizon. "It's fine."

The laden silence felt oppressive, smothering. The sky dimmed, the overcast clouds becoming progressively darker. In a surprising turn of events, Hank was the one to first speak.

"Might I ask _you_ a question?"

Cathy chuckled, "You heard my entire life story and you still have questions?"

"If you don't want to answer, that's fine."

Cathy watched as the fireflies blinked rhythmically in front of her, "I was joking. Ask away."

"Why go through so much trouble in putting my roommates and I in a good light? We were the ones your father and brother fought against. I fail to see the logic."

Cathy gently cupped her hands around one of the glowing insects. The spaces between her fingers glowed.

"The Anti-AAHW had killed a lot of people in the war, that's true. But the AAHW isn't exactly innocent either. If my father and brother had won and came back, they would've been seen not as heroes, but as murderers. Right?"

"AAHW propaganda would have them covered. But I can see your point."

"I've had many years to think about things. I've gotten over the need for revenge once I realized that was what caused all this bloodshed in the first place. I know you three aren't at all like my brother or my father, but it doesn't mean you aren't human. We all suffered during those dark years, and it's changed us."

Cathy opened her hands. They watched as the firefly flew away, gracefully flitting into the sky.

"Even if my articles don't teach people to love again, at the very least it'll get people thinking. And even if I get a few death threats here and there in the mail for believing in that, it's worth it. Because when people take the time in understanding each other… "

Cathy leaned back on the bench, watching the tiny point of light join the others. The bioluminescent multitudes swirled and cavorted in their indigo ocean, each point of light moving individually, yet still remaining close to one another other.

"... the world becomes a really beautiful place."

Hank stared into the bioluminescent vortex in contemplation. It wasn't until Cathy stood up that he had looked back at her.

"Well… it's getting late. I'm going to head home now," She sighed. "Wouldn't want to get myself in another mixup like last time, right?"

"I can accompany you to your place, if you'd like."

"I'll be fine, don't worry. I can handle myself in this light. I'll see you again… hopefully?"

Hank shrugged. She softly laughed.

"If you're interested in meeting up again, well, I left my number on my business card on the bench. It'd be nice if we can keep in touch."

Hank nodded. "Alright."

With a final wave, Cathy walked away. Sanford ducked behind the tree him and Deimos hid behind as she passed them. He focused his attention back on Hank.

"He's just standing there like a tree. Wonder what he's thinking about."

Sanford heard a sniff. He looked beside him, shocked to see Deimos' wiping at his eyes.

"What the-? Are you actually crying?!" Sanford whispered.

Deimos rubbed at his face. "Yo… that girl went through Hell, man."

"Deimos, now's not the time. You already blew our cover once!"

"But… man, it must be so hard for her… I just wanna give her a big ol' hug, or something!"

Sanford grabbed at Deimos before he could dash towards Cathy, holding him back. "Knock it off! The date's over, let's just... hurry up and get out of here!"

Hank still sat on the bench. He looked at the folded business card the reporter left behind. After a few seconds of contemplation, his hand reached out for the business card, fingers curling around it before it would be blown away in the wind.

Hank laid back and examined numbers penned onto the card. Smirking, he pulled out a lighter and set the card ablaze, sending the cloud of fireflies scattering in all directions.

Dropping the smoldering card and flicking out his switchblade, Hank scraped another tally to the oak beside him.

"Fifty-eight..."

* * *

(Original) A/N: Okay. 3,600 words. That was a pretty big chapter. Second largest in the whole fanfic so far (the largest was chapter 5 by 100 words). But what can I say? This chapter was meant to be long for the epic-ness. Or, at least if it was epic. Maybe the date part was too short? I don't know. So many thanks for those of you who have been reading this fanfic. Within 5 days, I have gained one review from InvaderASH (who has inspired me to keep writing. Thanks bro!) and an incredible view count. Or is it normal to have lots of views on this kind of fanfic? Ah well, I don't honestly care as long as you guys are enjoying it. R&R whenever and wherever you want. And to those of you who think this is epic, you have no idea. If you think this is dramatic, your heads will explode by the end of this story. Well, I guess this is goodbye for now, and Chapter 11 should be up and running soon.

* * *

New A/N: Even though the team and I have edited through ten chapters now, it's still incredibly strange reading my old Author's Note, especially considering how crazy I was over word counts. Nowadays, if I wrote 3,600 words and slapped a chapter title on it, I'd probably get lynched by the readers, lol.

The revised chapter is now 7,200 words; literally _double_ of the original. This is definitely thanks to the fact that the team and I added two more extra scenes; we felt it'd flesh out the characters a bit more and increase the enjoyability factor.

Speaking of additions, here's our changelog. :)

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ :

1 - Deimos is knocked out by Sanford immediately after the raid and gets a bullet pulled out of his shoulder by Hank. Poor guy.

2 - Maid-Sanford. While it seems entirely like fanservice, there's more to it than just that, we promise. ;)

3 - Added an intro scene where the head gangster gets caught. Better transitions.

4 - Changed the reporters swarming Hank scene. Works better with his new persona.

5 - Sanford and Deimos stalked Hank on his date. Considering the path this story is going, we think it'd fit the plot better (not to mention, it's incredibly amusing).

6 - Cathy's backstory updated. She's also less of a generic dependent female character, which is always nice (I'm not sexist, I swear).

7 - More description added.

8 - Grammatical errors removed.

9 - Narration and dialogue improved.

10 - Diction enhanced.

11 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

Changelog over. Now then, for a very nice update:

After two years of development, our team is proud to say that the first chapter of Hank's Legacy in manga format has been completed! Though the manga should already be out by the time you are all reading this, release will begin on August 13th, 2016 (which is next week from when I'm writing this Author's Note)! The first chapter will have page-by-page updates, however all following chapters will be uploaded in their entirety after the first 7 to 8 pages are out on a two-weekly basis. This is only to slowly introduce the art style and start setting up a more comprehensible schedule for everyone. Links will be available once upload has begun. ;)

We hope you enjoy this renewed chapter of Final Salvation! And again, thank you all for sticking here with us!

~Spirit


	11. Breakpoints

Chapter 11: Breakpoints

* * *

"Here you go, monsieur," Sanford spoke, gritting his teeth, "Fresh calamari with spaghetti and fucking caviar."

"A good 200 dollars wasted on a single dish," he muttered distastefully in afterthought.

"Thank you, madam." Hank smiled pleasantly. "Or, should I say, mademoiselle?"

"You have no idea how much I want to wring your neck right now."

Hank frowned slightly, bemused. "That's not very ladylike. I'm fairly sure you'd feel _a lot_ worse if you actually knew what 'mademoiselle' insinuated."

"What?"

"You have a phone, you have thumbs, figure it out yourself."

Hank pulled down his mask and ate a single forkful of spaghetti. He rubbed at his mouth with a napkin and got out of his seat.

"Still tastes like nothing. Oh well. Thanks for the meal anyways."

Sanford pursed his lips, staring at the plate of food.

"Of course…"

* * *

The door to Deimos's room creaked open as Hank stormed in. Deimos, who was lying on his bed, quickly flipped onto his back.

"Jebus Christ, Hank, knock on the freaking door! What if I actually needed the privacy?!"

"If you were masturbating, I would have heard it from the living room."

"What? No, that's not-" Deimos turned away with an irritated huff. "Just fucking knock next time, okay?"

"If I remember, sure." Hank looked over Deimos's head and onto the monitor. "Chess?"

"Yeah. A game for people who can actually think, like yours truly."

"Wow," Hank said, mock-impressed. "I'm sure that gives you some extra points on the ladies' department."

Deimos shifted his body to cover the laptop screen. "Why are you in my room?"

"I'm here to ask you a favor."

"Really? That's great, but I've got a mate in three, so I'm gonna ask you to put a hold on that."

"I want you to look into AAHW databases regarding one Daniel Richards. The more intel on him, the better."

Deimos dragged his queen across the board with his mouse.

"He's related to Cathy, isn't he?" He murmured, his eyes still on the screen.

"Yes, and if you were listening close enough to our conversation at the park you might even know that he's her brother."

"Can't hide, now," Deimos muttered, clicking his way into a digital coup-de-grace. A tinny trumpet blared from his speakers as bolded text popped up on the screen.

 _Checkmate! You win!_

Deimos clasped his hands in satisfaction. "Ahh. Feels good, man… sorry, were you saying something?"

"Info on Daniel Richards, as soon as convenient," Hank summarized.

Deimos scratched the back of his neck.

"We're talking about wiped, three-year-old servers," he said, doubtfully. "They're not even powered anymore."

"You're saying you can't do it?"

Deimos thought for a second. "Not really, no. The data's probably so corrupted by now that it'd be barely readable. And I'd probably have to run the decryption routine overnight to make it into legible English."

"Whatever it takes."

Deimos fell back onto his bed. "What a pain in the ass..."

"I'm going out for some groceries or something," Hank said.

As Hank opened the door, Deimos looked back up at him.

"You like that chick, don'tcha?"

Hank paused, a foot halfway out of the room. "She backed us up in her articles. I'm going to give her some closure on a family member. Quid pro quo."

"Heh. Even though you said a day ago that it'd be her problem if she'd get lynched for it?"

"It still is."

"I heard that! You hesitated! Hey, at least close the door, wouldja? No? Asshole."

* * *

Sanford knocked on Deimos' door.

"Yo! How long do you plan on locking yourself in there for?!"

"Piss off," came the irritated reply.

Sanford crossed his arms. "Fine. No dinner then."

A few seconds of silence. Then, the lock on the door clicked and Deimos opened the door just enough to present a hand holding a cup of instant noodles.

"Hot water."

Sanford rolled his eyes, clasping the cup. Deimos' hand withdrew.

"You've been cooped up there for hours. Get some fresh air, for God's sake."

"No. I'm busy."

"With what? Jacking off?"

"What if I was? First it's Hank, now you. Both of you wanna watch?"

Sanford put his foot in the door just before Deimos was able to force it shut again, keenly aware of the fact that Deimos hadn't taken the obvious opportunity for a pun. "Seriously, what's got you so occupied you forgot to eat dinner?"

"Hank wants me to find some stuff on that Daniel guy. You know, Cathy's brother?"

"I was there too. But weren't the AAHW databases..."

"Shut down after the war? Yep, and their drives were wiped. But I have ways."

Sanford pushed at the door, only to have Deimos push back.

"What part of 'piss off' did you not understand?" Deimos voice had an edge to it.

"I just want to make sure you don't attract unwanted attention and get us fucking firebombed," Sanford retorted.

"You clearly don't know what the phrase "piss off" entails," Deimos began eloquently, though Sanford had raised a fair point and they both knew it. "Alright, let me try something else, then. Fuck off! Leeeave this domain! Go, uh, take a bath with a toaster!"

"If you want the rest of the spaghetti with caviar, let me in."

"Caviar? Isn't that like, super expensive?"

"Very. You think Hank cares enough to eat it though?"

Deimos sighed. "Fine. You got 15 minutes. After that, give me my space."

Sanford nodded. Deimos opened the door, allowing his partner to walk in, only to see him recoil in disgust.

"I fucking knew it," Sanford said as he covered his nose with the collar of his shirt, "Leave you in a locked room for longer than two hours and the entire place reeks of fucking lung cancer!"

"Well if you don't like it, then just-!"

Like a member of the SWAT team performing a raid, Sanford barged into Deimos' room with a can of air freshener in one hand, shoving the techie aside as he sprayed with reckless aplomb.

Once the mist settled, Sanford took a deep whiff. "Better."

"Better?!" Deimos shouted, "It smells like a mob of lavenders took a heaping shit all over my face!"

Sanford grinned. "Better than the original scent."

With a grunt, Deimos lifted himself off the ground and plopped right back in front of his computer.

"You're downgraded to twelve minutes."

* * *

Even Sanford couldn't help but admit that watching his partner furiously type lines of digital commands was mildly amusing. Thirty minutes had already passed since he'd come in, but Deimos had failed to notice.

Presently, the specialist slightly tapped the Enter key with an index finger. "Fucking shit, which one was I supposed to-"

"When was the last time you hacked something?" Sanford asked.

Deimos dismissively waved Sanford off with a shushing sound, staring intently at the screen. For the umpteenth time, his fingers tap-danced against his laptop's keyboard. Sanford shook his head, getting off the bed.

"Okay, Deimos. Doesn't seem like you're doing much, so I'm gonna just head off now and-"

As if on cue, Deimos clapped his hands in satisfaction. "Fuckin' gottem."

Sanford quickly sat back beside him. "You did?"

"Hell yeah. I'm pretty sure my computer doesn't like you breathing down my neck any more than I do."

"Sure."

Sanford stared at the screen. "This the same database you hacked in three years ago? I had thought it was deleted."

The screen flickered once, displaying a login screen. Deimos tapped in a long string of alphanumeric characters, a faint grin flickering on his face.

"Yep, the very same, complete with that shitty red and black color scheme. I got lucky. They cached the database in some government black ops server before they deleted it, so I don't even have to run decryption. Ahh…" Deimos sighed nostalgically. "I miss mining data for a living."

Deimos toyed with the webpage, bypassing the blocking software with a few button presses.

"Those were simpler times. See this? All the different projects the AAHW underwent. They even organized all the successful and failed ones into different sections," Deimos explained.

"Resourceful. Now hurry up and get information on that Daniel kid. The longer you're on here, well, I hardly need to remind you."

"Oh, relax. I know this place like the back of my hand. Who's going to trace us? The government we saved? Anyway, I'm routing all inbound signals to some server in North Carolina. It'll be their problem to deal with."

"You should still do it quick."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just gonna run a search algorithm, grab the data and we'll slip out the backdoor I slapped down earlier," Deimos grinned, "But first… I wanna take a look at some of these mission logs. It's been a while. Too long, in fact."

"For the love of..."

"Come on, man, don't worry about it! We're the only people to have accessed this thing since the end of the war! There's secrets here worth thousands. It might gain us some fat stacks."

The techie's eyes zigzagged as he scrolled down the page. His excitement melted away.

"Huh…"

Sanford leaned in closer to the computer screen. "What?"

Deimos nudged Sanford with his shoulder. "Hey, back off. My computer doesn't like you staring so close. Anyway…" Deimos placed his finger over a bold link titled: "UNDERGROUND CIRCUS."

"...See this file right here? Doesn't have a status on it. Only time that used to happen was when a project was still ongoing. Neat."

"Deimos, can you just do Hank told you to do, and dick around with this crap later?"

With a left-click on the link, Deimos redirected himself to the "UNDERGROUND CIRCUS" directory.

"Whoopsie."

Sanford exhaled, exasperated.

"Damnit, Deimos…"

 **[CLASSIFIED]**

"'Classified?'" Deimos laughed at the screen. "You wanna 'Classified' _me_?"

His laugh turned into a cackle that Sanford found somewhat disturbing. "Oh, it's on, now, bitch! I'm gonna brute-force bash your shit so hard a hundred fucking interns won't be able to debug your functions, you-"

"Deimos!"

"-1990's... piece of… goddamnit, Sanford!" Deimos quickly went back a few pages, "Knew I never shoulda opened the door. Damn, I'm stupid. Caviar! Caviar, of all things."

"Didn't even taste that good," he murmured under his breath, stabbing his fingers at the keys.

A few more quick commands hurled Deimos towards a lengthy Members' List. The scroll bar flew downwards as the algorithm parsed the data.

"Let's see… hey Sanford? You think they'd write his name as 'Dan' or 'Daniel?'"

"For fuck's sake, just look up Richards!"

"Richards? Huh. There's gotta be tons of Richards. Last I recalled, that started with an R, yeah?"

Sanford shot a glare. "I swear, Deimos. If you don't find this guy in the next two minutes, you're getting takeout for the next month and a half."

"Jebus, is Hank threatening to kill your wife and break your hook, or something? Oh wait, just remembered, you married that piece of metal like ten years ago. Oops. Redundant statement alert!"

Sanford gripped at Deimos' collar. Deimos raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay, fuck! I'll get to it, geez!"

"Why can't you just fucking do what you have to do instead of just…" Sanford took a deep breath to calm himself; it did not work. "... dicking around all the time? Do I have to make it physical for you to get the memo? Seriously, between your procrastination and Hank's ego, I feel like the only one in this house who can get anything done!" His voice rose with each word.

"Ah, wait, there! I see his name, it's right there, there!" Deimos said quickly, frantically grabbing at the computer.

Loosening his grip, Sanford watched as Deimos scrambled to his laptop. A portrait of a young man soon appeared on the screen.

Deimos laid back, crossing his arms. "That's him. That's the poor sonuvabitch Hank wanted me to look for."

Sanford squinted his eyes. "Don't you think he looks…? No, never mind. Keep going."

Deimos started to peel apart the code layers, downloading the relevant data. Very few details of interest were made available, with the exception of one word bolded blue:

 **[MISSING]**

Deimos pursed his lips. "The AAHW's record-keeping department really nailed it."

"Just get the damn file printed out, so we can get this shit over-"

An image of a topless woman appeared on the screen. Sanford turned to Deimos.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"This isn't me, I swear! I mean, come on!" Deimos pointed towards the screen, "A-cup?! Don't even get me started-!"

Dozens of windows of adware flooded the monitor, blasting a frenzy of loud _dings_ through the speakers. Deimos smashed his fingers against the keyboard.

"Okay, that's A LOT of porn!"

"Turn the fucking thing off, Deimos!" Sanford shouted.

"I'm trying!"

In the heat of the moment, Deimos flipped over his computer and yanked out the battery. The screen went blissfully black.

"What just happened?" Sanford asked.

Deimos shrugged. "Well, seems like a computer virus."

Sanford turned red. "I told you so!"

"Calm down, jeez! Maybe… it was just a bad virus from some site, you know? Ads from my other tabs!"

"Gee, I wonder what was on those tabs?"

"Good stuff. Shut up."

Deimos reinserted the laptop battery back. The screen lit up as he pressed the power button.

"See? What did I tell ya-"

The inside of the computer clicked rapidly, as if a critical component had broken loose. The display remained dark.

Deimos grabbed the sides of the monitor, his mouth agape.

"NO!"

The techie frantically shook the computer, as if it would suddenly awaken from its slumber.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Deimos sank his face into the mattress, sobbing. Sanford pressed his index finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose.

"How can someone be so smart, yet so stupid…?"

"M-my laptop," Deimos sniffled, "My entire collection! Ten terabytes! TEN TERABYTES, I TELL YOU!"

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Hank began, sitting at the kitchen table, "You two managed to blow your cover online in… less than an hour?"

Sanford poured himself a cup of coffee by the counter. "Deimos fucked up from the exact thing I was warning him about the entire time."

Hank looked out the window. "I suppose that's why he's digging a grave for his computer in the front yard."

"TEN TERABYTES!" Deimos caterwauled, shoveling another clump of dirt.

"Pretty much," Sanford said, sitting across his roommate, "Anyways, about that reporter's brother: we got his file, but the only interesting thing we found out about him was that he's apparently missing."

"You couldn't print anything else out?" Hank asked.

Sanford pointed at Deimos, who was now filling in the hole.

"TEN TERABYTES!"

Hank laid back on his seat, "So basically, you're telling me he's either dead, alive, or zombified. Thanks for the heads up. Never would've guessed myself."

"Hey, you got what you wanted and it cost the kid his computer. Even though it was his fault, at least give him some credit for giving it his all."

"I'll consider us even then. That's generous, considering he hasn't actually given me anything I don't know already."

"That's 'cause Sanford didn't tell you the whole story." Deimos interjected, sticking his dirt-stained face through the window.

Sanford rolled his eyes. "Did it seriously take you _that_ long to dig a hole, toss your computer in, and fill it up?"

"I was burying my hopes and dreams too, mind you," Deimos rested his head on his arms, "Anyways, Sanford didn't tell you the interesting part: one of the AAHW projects called 'Underground Circus' hadn't been listed for completion."

"So what?"

"So what?!" Deimos repeated Hank's words, "You kidding me? An incomplete project labelled 'Underground?' Bro, like… what if the AAHW is still alive?!"

"Deimos, the Anti-AAHW is still active, cleaning up possible remnants of the Agency. Even if you were right, odds are anything left got wiped out by now." Sanford reasoned.

"Then explain why my computer got trashed as soon as I accessed that guy's file!"

"Security protocols or some shit," Sanford shrugged half-heartedly, "Aren't you the one who knows all this geek crap in the first place?"

"No, you- Listen, I've accessed AAHW servers tons of times before and not ONCE have I run into something like… like that! I took all the same precautions too like I did three years ago! This was a new defense system that specifically attacked my system when I was accessing Daniel Richards' file, but NOT when I was looking at all the outdated AAHW project reports."

Deimos slammed his hands against the windowsill. "Now do you get why this sounds more serious than Sanford made it out to be?! Someone clearly isn't happy with the fact that we accessed that file and I'm willing to bet that certain someone-!"

"...Knows Dan Richards." Hank said. "That might be the smartest thing you've said all month, Deimos."

"Well, I was just gonna say he was an asshole, but… sure, that too."

* * *

Original A/N: Okay. Fuck. I have to end the chapter here because I just have no idea how to continue something like THAT with smaller, unimportant, and boring details to follow. I made this chapter specifically for Deimos and Sanford as I realized I'm ignoring them a bit too much in the plot. Anyways, I also wanted to end this here so I can finish this damn day.

...Hmm...I don't really have anything else important to say I guess without giving away the plot...okay random fact: I hate to flush the toilet late at night in the dark because I get scared a ghost or something would jump out and attack me from the shower. Please don't ask why, I'm just born that way.

Read and Review. Chapter 12 is being sent your way. Thanks, and good night!...or good morning...or some shit...

Bye. :D

* * *

New A/N: I'm honestly speechless after reading what I wrote 4 years ago for both the chapter and the Author's Note (but more so for the Note), what the actual fuck was I thinking back then…?

Anyways, as old me said, this chapter was surprisingly short. Not sure why I decided to only make it this long back then, but it was probably because I had no sense of pacing (not like it's really improved much since then, lol). I was honestly thinking to combine the second half of the last chapter with the start of this chapter, but I figured it would have been really tedious to reformat all the chapters just for a small thing like that.

Here's our Changelog:

* * *

 _ **Changelog:**_

1 - Caviar instead of pizza. An expensive change, but higher quality (both food and story-wise).

2 - "Dan Richards" is formally known as "Daniel Richards." Makes more sense.

3 - Changes regarding the way Deimos hacks into the website and how the "virus" attacks his computer. More realistic, albeit probably inaccurate, haha.

4 - More description added.

5 - Grammatical errors removed.

6 - Narration and dialogue improved.

7 - Diction enhanced.

8 - TEN TERABYTES!

9 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

And that sums it up. I'm going to keep this note short because I have to work on the next chapter of Hank's Legacy (hasn't been updated for about two months now and Madness Day is coming up AHHHHH).

We hope you enjoyed this chapter's rewrite! :)

~Spirit9871


	12. Dog Days

Chapter 12: Dog Days

* * *

Hank breathed it all in.

It smelled of a one-way hallway; of bodies, dissolving into putrid mist. Filled nooses swayed, reaching out, catching forlorn death-whispers of men who once saw light.

A familiar scene. Too absurd to be real, yet too real to be forgotten.

Hank knew these hanging corpses were AAHW. The lights glimmered on their discarded shades. Delicate fractures spiderwebbed across their polished black surfaces.

The fluorescent lights died, then crawled back to life, once or twice.

The door standing guard at the end of the hall was white: simple and pure. Every warning sign in Hank's head went off. Like the unearthly allure of siren-song, there was something about the impossibly clean door which welcomed him.

He stepped forward. The lights flickered again. A figure rose from the shadows, black upon black, its veil camouflaging the darkness surrounding it.

Hank stepped backward and spread his feet out, his hands posed for combat. The lights blinked again.

It was gone.

Hank dropped his stance, muscles rigid as stone. The dark seemed to leave him amidst an empty void. He felt an odd sensation coming from his ears; something that sounded like a swarm of angry locusts surrounding him.

Static: the raspy breathing of the universe.

As soon as the feeling arose, it darted away. Hank's legs went stiff. His right boot pressed against a dark puddle.

The lights went mad, laughing at the lost traveller beneath them. The creature in black returned, distancing itself a finger's length away. It smiled, yellowed diamonds poking out of discolored gums.

Hank stumbled, falling onto his rear. He blinked.

The lights continued to exist. The creature did not.

Hank turned around, expecting the long hallway behind him to provide some refuge. Instead, his forehead collided into a concrete wall. He tapped his knuckles against it, listening carefully. His ears told him there was nothing behind it, insisting that his eyes were lying.

 _Move forward._

That was the only thing the two senses could agree upon now. He had chosen this route to walk. He would have to suffer the consequences.

Hank carried on. The feeling of adrenaline coursed through his veins, just like they always used to during one of his massacres. To his surprise, neither the lights nor creature pestered him once he finally reached the door.

His hand wrapped around the knob. It felt ice-cold, like a piece of scrap metal left outside during winter. He twisted it clockwise.

Death.

The stench forced its way into his nose, a smell the man wanted to abandon ever since the war had reached its conclusion. The unwelcoming familiarity of it all made him jerk backwards. He looked in front of him, scanning the floor of the next room for the culprit of the odor...

… Except there was no floor.

Hank looked towards where the ground had disappeared; his eyes couldn't make out anything deep below, but his ears caught recognizable noises.

The groans of the undead.

By sound alone, he could tell there were dozens of them, all staggering mindlessly around their inescapable prison.

They stopped.

The undead suddenly made a mad dash for the doorway above. Their unkept nails clawed at the wall, hopelessly reaching out towards Hank as if he were an unreachable yet invaluable prize.

They couldn't see Hank, but just as how he could hear them, they could _smell_ him.

" _ **Be crucified for your sins."**_

Hank turned around; the veiled demon stood before him, its voice hoarse. His muscles went deaf, as if he had stared into the eyes of Medusa.

" _ **The way you crucified us for ours."**_

A rotted hand placed itself onto Hank's chest. With an unnaturally powerful shove, Hank felt his feet unroot themselves from the ground. Gravity grasped onto him like heavy weights as he was falling.

 _Falling._

As the maws of his victims came near, they vanished into the air like steam. Hank was shrouded in a bright light, hearing a voice. He couldn't make out what it was saying, yet it sounded eerily familiar.

 _Falling._..

* * *

Hank shot up from his bed, cold sweat streaming out of every pore of his body.

He was _alive_.

Hank realized he had grabbed his chest with a white-knuckled hand. His heart drummed an angry tirade as his brain tried making sense of the real world. He shakily exhaled.

Another nightmare.

Hank grimaced as he laid himself down. Of course. It was far too ridiculous to be anything but a nightmare. How could he have been so naive?

Recently the intensity of those dreams had increased drastically. Perhaps it was the recent missions that were causing it. Or maybe something else he wasn't noticing carefully enough. Hank doubted the latter option. Nothing escaped his notice, he liked to think.

"Maybe I should get one of those Native American dreamcatcher things…" He mumbled to himself.

There was a knock on the door. Hank checked the clock.

5 AM.

Satisfactory.

"Come in, Sanford."

"I made you your fucking food downstairs. Hurry up and eat it before the cyanide I put in it denatures."

Hank got out of his bed. "You're not wearing your work clothes, Sanford."

"No, I'm not."

"You're cheating your part of the deal," Hank said, fixing his sheets, "I expect you to be properly dressed in the outfit I meticulously picked out by the time I get downstairs. Otherwise, the deal's off."

"Fuck you. You really dying that much to see my ass, or what?"

"There's nothing sexier than seeing those two concrete slabs attached to your pelvis. Hoo Hah."

"Just hurry up and get downstairs so the cyanide can do its job," Sanford said, slamming the door behind him.

"Too bad it won't make your food taste any better!" Hank yelled.

"Go die!" Sanford shouted back.

"I just did," Hank said, quietly.

Hank finished making his bed. Regardless of the reason behind the nightmares, he knew Sanford and Deimos didn't need to know.

They _shouldn't_ know.

* * *

There was nothing more appropriate for breakfast than a steaming platter of whole-grain penne with sun-dried tomatoes, pesto drizzle, and corn. At least, that's what Hank thought when he ordered Sanford to make him it.

Sanford stood behind the sink, scrubbing the dishes with a bit more force than necessary. Just as promised, he had been wearing the maid costume Hank had demanded.

Hank sat down at the kitchen table behind him, picking up the fork left beside his plate. "Looks like it took a lot of effort to make this. How long did it take you to make this?"

"An hour," Sanford tersely replied. "I woke up at four,"

Hank placed a forkful of penne into his mouth. "You would have been done sooner if you wore your work outfit. Less encumbrance, if you know what I mean."

"Maybe I should have doubled down on the poison."

"Maybe you should have. It might even give your food some flavor."

A prolonged, groggy groan signalled Deimos' entrance into the kitchen.

"Christ, I can't fucking sleep with all this… food smell… at, like, 5 in the morning?"

Deimos turned to Sanford, who fell silent. Sanford felt his face burn as Deimos turned away, grinning.

"That _never_ gets old."

"I swear to fucking God…" Sanford muttered under his breath.

Deimos took a glance at Hank's dish. "Pasta. Five in the morning. Two of my favorites. Mind if I-"

"You can go fuck yourself," Sanford interrupted, "Make your grilled cheese sandwiches for all I care. Takes a Master's Degree to make one of those stupid things, right?"

Deimos crossed his arms, turning to his side. "For your information, I'm gonna do just that!"

Hank and Sanford watched as Deimos stormed out of the room. A few seconds later he came back in, his hat concealing his eyes.

"... I need the stove to make them."

"You really are a fucking idiot, aren't you?" Sanford asked.

"Funny story. Computers get pretty hot sometimes, alright? Thought it'd be enough to melt some measly piece of cheese. And it was. But now it's all over my computer."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Better being an idiot than looking like one."

Before Sanford could respond, Hank rose from his seat.

"I think that's enough for one meal," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

The other two men looked back at his plate. Only a quarter of the plate was actually empty.

"You know, Sanford, maybe your cooking isn't half bad. I'm actually starting to taste something," Hank added.

Though he wouldn't have admitted it in a million years, Sanford felt a little bit of pride grow in him.

"Really?" The cook asked.

"No."

Sanford rolled his eyes, struggling to restrain himself from Deimos's snickers. Hank began to exit the room.

"I'm heading to the gym."

"At 5 AM?" Deimos asked.

"Between the girl and the raids, I hardly have the time to go at a more 'conventional' time," Hank responded, pulling at his mask to cover his mouth.

"Can you just hurry up and go so I can take this shit off of me?" Sanford snapped back.

"In that case, I think there's a greater incentive to just stay here and-"

"Leave!"

Shrugging, Hank exited the room. As soon as he was gone, Deimos's eyes danced between the plate of food and Sanford. Sanford rubbed his eyes.

"Eat. I need a fucking beer..."

As Sanford grabbed for the can of alcohol from the fridge, Deimos scrambled to the chair Hank sat on. The techie greedily took a forkful of Hank's unfinished meal, rolling back his eyes in ecstasy as his tastebuds shouted in joy.

"Yeah, I can get used to this…"

Sanford snapped the top of the canister open. The liquid inside fizzed, relieved from pressure.

"You're going to clean that plate once you're done," Sanford said, taking a swig of his beer.

"Can't you handle it yourself, miss?"

If it wasn't 5 in the morning, Sanford would have probably grabbed Deimos into a chokehold.

He finished his can with five large gulps.

"Call me that again and I'll make it physically impossible for you to take care of the dishes."

"Harsh. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be in charge of this sort of thing?"

"Yes, because you motherfuckers wouldn't do the shit you had to do to keep this place clean!"

Sanford smashed the can against the counter. He lifted his hand off of the flattened piece of metal and stabbed an accusatory finger towards Deimos.

"What have _you_ done of any significance for this house, other than be a waste of space?"

Deimos put his hand against his own chest, feigning surprise. "Excuse me? I'm a _charismatic_ waste of space. A celebrity among wastes of space, even. Autograph line is over there."

Sanford tightened his fists, then sighed. His head was aching too much.

"Fuck it. I'm going back to bed. Can't even finish the dishes..."

Sanford walked off, muttering to himself. He bashed his head into the side of the doorway as he was leaving the room, catching Deimos's attention. Deimos stifled a laugh, but the mirth on his face melted away when he saw Sanford kneel over, grabbing at his head. A small tinge of guilt shot through the techie as he walked towards Sanford's side.

"San, you alright?"

"Damnit, I'm fine, just…"

Sanford shook his head, slowly getting back up to his feet.

"Sleep deprivation. It's getting to me."

"Take a break. I'll take care of the rest of the dishes for-"

The image of a dozen broken dishes on the floor invaded Sanford's thoughts.

"NO!" Sanford suddenly shouted, grimacing as his injury sent a stinging reminder across his temples.

"Huh? Then what the Hell was all that fuss about me not cleaning up earlier?"

"Forget it. I'll do it myself later. Just… leave it on the table."

"You sure?"

A thirteenth dish broke in Sanford's imagination. He nodded his head slowly.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

* * *

Sanford dragged his way towards the stairs, still rubbing at his head. He pulled his blanket over his body, relaxing his muscles with a sigh of exasperation and relief.

The door to his room slowly creaked open.

"San?"

Not even three minutes of rest.

"San?" Deimos asked again.

"What."

"Can I come in?"

"No."

Deimos entered the room and sat on the side of Sanford's mattress. Still laying on his back, Sanford raised his head and gazed towards his uninvited guest, trying to ignore the soreness in his back.

"Hey," Deimos said casually.

"The fuck do you want?" Sanford replied not-so casually.

"Take it easy. I haven't even said anything yet."

"Say it and go."

"Yeesh, trying to be serious for once here."

Deimos shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket.

"No," Sanford snapped.

"But-"

"You're not smoking in my room. Period."

"Fine."

Deimos quickly put away the cigarette. Having nothing else to do, he stared down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. He sighed.

"Why are you going this far for Hank?"

Sanford felt the weight of those words coming out of his partner's mouth. They came abruptly and strained, as if Deimos was trying to tear off a bandage. Sanford remained silent.

"This isn't some matter of pride," Deimos continued. "Waking up at four in the morning everyday? Cooking food like you're a chef in a five-star restaurant? Wearing a fucking _maid_ costume? It's humiliation. Sometimes, I actually feel more _bad_ than amused."

"That's a first…" Sanford muttered.

"Why are you going this far?" Deimos asked, ignoring Sanford's reply, "You've got nothing to gain from all this. We all know that Hank's just going to keep fucking with you. He just likes watching you suffer."

"Yeah." Sanford turned on his pillow, away from Deimos's confused expression.

"Why though?"

"Maybe I'm doing this because I felt bad for him," Sanford said, the irritation in his voice growing more audible. "That poor motherfucker being all alone all the goddamn time."

"But why should that matter to you? He clearly doesn't seem to care."

"I don't know, Deimos. Maybe it's because while he doesn't act like he cares, I know he actually does. Because I've been where he was for most of my life."

There was another period of silence. Sanford wasn't sure why he said all that; maybe it was the fatigue loosening up his lips.

Deimos got off the bed, surprising Sanford a second time by not blurting an inane joke.

"You know what? I'm going to help you."

"You're going to what?"

"I'm going to help you," Deimos repeated, "I'll wake up every morning and help you make breakfast for that idiot with you. If it'll make your life any easier, that is."

Sanford sat up, slightly amused at Deimos's words. "Those are some big words for someone who usually wakes up at two PM. If you're serious about that, I hope you realize I'll be asking more from you than just grilled cheese sandwiches."

"I know, I know. Maybe I can, er… boil the water for you? Or I can do whatever it is that you good cooks tend to do, like… uh…"

Sanford crossed his arms. Deimos looked away while he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Okay, maybe I'm not _fully_ aware, but I'm still going to do it! You can… maybe you can teach me, yeah? How to cook, I mean?"

"I'm honestly not too sure. It didn't turn out so well last time…"

"Aw, come on Sanford! I can do it, I really can!" Deimos insisted, his eyes firing imaginary beams of fiery, youthful enthusiasm towards him.

Sanford waved away the beams as if he were swatting invisible flies. "Ugh, alright fine! Just stop staring like that. Making me feel uncomfortable, Christ."

"Fuck yeah! Just you watch Sanford, I'm going to blow your mind!"

"Yeah. I'll probably get an explosive aneurysm in the first five minutes."

In a fit of excitement, Deimos dashed out of Sanford's room. As soon as Sanford laid his back on his bed again, Deimos stuck his head into his room again.

"Sanford?"

"For the love of God, just leave me alone, Deimos."

"Just wanted to say that you're a good guy, you know?"

Sanford raised his blanket over his head, covering his face.

"... Yeah, yeah, whatever, just get out of my room."

Without another word, Deimos shut the door. Sanford stared at his pillow, deep in thought. A large _thump_ outside his room pulled him back to reality.

"Fucking wall!" Deimos shouted.

Sanford chuckled to himself as he closed his eyes.

"Idiot…"

* * *

Hank J. Wimbleton _really_ wished he had put on a disguise before heading out.

In truth, he had chosen to head for the gym at the crack of dawn just to avoid the reporters trying to milk him out of every little morsel of gossip they could get. Though the stunt he had pulled off last time ensured that they stood a safe distance away, the influx of blaring headlines made it clear that his war against the media was far from over.

 _Notorious Killer Draws Loaded Weapon on Crowd! Has Hank Finally Overstepped his Boundaries? Excessively Forcible Display a Telltale Sign of Psychopathy? Threatening Spectacle the Result of Gun Control Leniency? Police Force in the Pocket of Infamous Trio? Experts say..._

Deimos was less than satisfied with the inventive new labels the media kept plastering on, day by day by day.

"Fuck you! I haven't played this game in three years, so yeah, I'm a bit rusty!"

Speaking of Deimos…

The techie was loud enough to hear from outside the house. Hank entered the doorway, half expecting to walk into his two roommates with their usual arguing.

He was half right.

The living room TV blared flashing lights onto Deimos's face as he sat behind an old video game console. In his hands was a nostalgic controller which twisted and turned with his body, as if his physical movements would somehow make the little man on the screen run faster.

"Okay, no! That was actually _your_ fault that time around! You didn't kill the damn sniper first so we-!" Deimos paused momentarily, his face growing redder by the second, "Bullshit! He was right there in the open, you fucking-!"

"Deimos."

As soon as it detected another presence in the room, Deimos's brain tore away from the TV, focusing on Hank. The gamer set his headphones to the side.

"Oh, hey Hank! Didn't see you there."

"I would imagine. Berating teenagers across the continent must require all your focus."

The sound of angry yelling, while unintelligible, was audible from the headphones. Deimos put them back on his head.

"Hey, hey, hey! You calling me a faggot, faggot?! I've been banging girls before you were even born, kid!"

Hank walked towards the console. "And, this is the part where…"

He unplugged the electronic's power cord from its socket.

"... you stop playing this game."

"HANK, NO!" Deimos cried, grabbing at his console like a mother trying to shield her child. "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!"

"You were screaming at kids who probably aren't even old enough to drive. Grow the fuck up."

Hank nodded his head towards the hallway across from them leading into the living room.

"I'm sure this guy agrees."

Deimos turned behind him, facing the only other person who was in the house at the time: a Sanford with baggy eyes.

"Really helpin' me out here, Deimos," Sanford groggily said.

"Look, it's not my fault there's nothing to do around here!"

"And it also wasn't your fault for being loud and obnoxious?"

Deimos hesitated. He sighed in defeat.

"Alright, fine. I'm sorry, I just got into the heat of things again. It's been awhile since I played this and the nostalgia was kicking in."

"Right. Your childish fits of rage. How nostalgic."

"Sanford, you hypocrite! I still remember that one time you threw the remote into the wall!"

Sanford squinted his eyes at the TV screen. He grimaced.

"Oh God, is that the cheesy one we played back in HQ?" He began to snap his fingers. "What was it called… 'Burst Battle'?"

"It's 'Burst Kill 3', grandma."

"Right, right. I forgot how stupid that name sounded."

"Can you just go back to bed or something?"

"Can't you do something better with your time that _doesn't_ involve yelling at strangers?"

"Well I would, but somebody helped ruin my computer!" Deimos protested, shooting a glare towards Hank's direction. "Ten terabytes."

After momentary silence, Hank stared up at the ceiling.

"... Hm. You've been putting on weight, Deimos."

"Hey, fuck y- wait, really? Have I?"

A mortified Deimos gave his stomach an exploratory prod.

"Holy shit. W-when did my master marksman abs get this, uh..."

Sanford seemed unimpressed.

"When you started eating all those high-calorie meals, is when."

Deimos's glare shifted towards Sanford.

"How is that supposed to be my fault? Haven't you realized Hank's just trying to change the subject?"

"Oh, uh… yeah. Yeah!" Deimos glared back at Hank. "Don't change the subject!"

Hank stared down at the ground. "Tonight I have another date, huh…"

"Don't ignore me either, you-" Deimos's look of irritation morphed into surprise. "Wait. You're actually considering your date?"

"Obviously," Hank said.

"Oh. Wow."

A silence hung in the room. Sanford was the first to speak.

"... Please tell me you're going to shower before you see her."

"Of course I'm not. Women love the-"

"GO SHOWER!" Sanford and Deimos yelled in unison.

"I was joking, Christ," Hank grumbled, walking off. "Damn philistines forgot what sarcasm means."

Once Hank had exited the living room, Deimos snickered.

"What's so funny?" Sanford asked.

"Didn't you hear what he said? He called us 'Philippines.' It's supposed to be 'Filipinos.' And neither of us have a drop of Filipino blood in us! It's not every day that we hear Hank fail this hard, right San? Uh... Earth to Sanford? Hello? Hey, where ya going?"

* * *

(Original) A/N: Another comedy/bonding chapter. I just did this one to connect with some of the readers out there, you know, those gamer fans. But it's getting extremely difficult to organize this story. I mean, I have all the events planned out in my head, but when and where these things take place is the real problem. Plus, what happens before and afterwards is also a critical factor. Oh well. The next chapter should be up soon. I hope you enjoy this story so far, and I'll see you later.

~Spirit9871

* * *

New A/N: I hated rewriting this chapter so much. And that original A/N's comment about the "gamers;" I sound like an old dude trying to be hip with the kids. I was 14 then too, Christ.

Honestly if it wasn't for Alias, I think I might've blown my brains out.

(Damn shame.)

Shut up, Alias.

Anyways, there were some massive revisions to this chapter, as many of you who read it originally can tell. For those of you who can't, here's a list of those changes:

* * *

 _ **Changelog:**_

1 - Chapter title changed from "Just Play and Forget Your Problems" to "Dog Days." Wouldn't make sense otherwise (and longer titles just don't sound good).

2 - Hank is more conservative of his night terrors. This also makes more sense.

3 - A plate of pasta in the morning. Deimos should really start counting his calories.

4 - Speaking of calories, RIP marksman abs.

5 - Added a Sanford and Deimos moment in Sanford's room. Yes, I'm well aware of what I just wrote. (I can see you turning _those_ cogs in your mind, you dirty bastard.)

6 - Originally, the trio were supposed to play the video game together. The original concept though was so irrelevant and nonsensical that I just removed it altogether. There was no way to logically work it back in and I'd be wasting way too much time trying to work it out. The word count might be significantly lower, but I'd rather prefer that than fanservice with no real purpose.

7 - Grammatical errors removed.

8 - Narration and dialogue improved.

9 - Diction enhanced.

10 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

That's pretty much it. Sorry to those of you who liked the original videogaming thing better, but to be fair, it really didn't do anything significant for the story. It's honestly such a relief just getting rid of it altogether.

I'm going to shut up now so I can head back to writing the next chapter of Hank's Legacy sooner. Thank you all for reading (or re-reading) this chapter! Hopefully you enjoyed it and will feel the same with the next! :D

~Spirit


	13. Answers

Chapter 13: Answers

* * *

Cathy was not sure how she knew there was someone standing behind her. She could never forget what had happened last time she was here; it had put her on edge.

The person behind her got closer; He moved quietly, steadily, and slowly. Cathy involuntarily stiffened.

Hank walked around the bench, taking a seat next to her.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She tried to mask her surprise, then realized the futility of the attempt.

"You came back."

"Yeah."

They were at the same spot they had met last time. The bench was once inundated in the surreal bioluminescence of innumerable fireflies; yet now, surrounded by the sounds of traffic and pervasive, curling weeds, this once-magical place felt arbitrary, almost dreary.

"Did I surprise you?" Hank said.

The fact that Hank started a conversation startled Cathy more than his surprise appearance ever could. But, despite the cold facade, Hank was as perceptive of emotion as Cathy expected him to be.

"No," Cathy said, having concluded her introspections. "Well, a bit. I thought your friends made you come here last time, so I wasn't sure you would agree to meet again."

"Well, I'm here."

Cathy smiled.

"Are we going to do what we did last time?" Hank asked.

"Oh! Well, to be honest, I don't think we should actually count last evening as a date. Today's going to be the real deal!"

Truth be told, Hank didn't particularly like the idea.

"What do you mean?"

Cathy straightened her back, brushing specks of invisible dust off her clothes.

"You'll see. Come on!"

"I-"

Whatever argument he was going to voice died in his throat as she took his hand in hers and charged downhill at a maddening pace. The veteran stared at her hand, blood rushing to the top of his head.

 _A vice grip, restraining your movement._

The muscles in his arms tensed as his mind ordered his body to break the wrist grab. Hank tried to override his instinct, but not soon enough- he jerked his wrist out of Cathy's grip. Cathy stopped, turning around to look at Hank, her features marred by momentary concern.

"Is something wrong? Was I holding you too tight?"

The blood that flooded his brain was now flowing back to his arm. Feeling returned back to the numbed limb, as if he had just woken up after sleeping on it the night before.

Hank shoved his mutinous hand into his coat pocket as he willed his racing heart to slow.

"No," he finally managed to say. "It was… a cramp. Can we just walk to wherever it is we're going like normal adults?"

"I…" She blinked twice, then wore a different smile. "Sure! Sure. It's this way. Just follow me."

* * *

"Sunset Amusement Park: Where the only rule is to enjoy yourselves!" A sign overhead the amusement park main entrance said.

A few steps later was a plaque with a list of restrictions and regulations, followed by another sign that said: "Due to customers taking our slogan too seriously in the past, we've added the park rules here as reminder that they exist. We hope you enjoy your time here at Sunset Amusement Park!"

And a little beyond that point was the line to the ticket booth, which was where Hank found himself standing. He received his and Cathy's tickets from the vendor without questioning gazes. One of the very few pros of Deimos's fashion choices, he supposed.

The rest of the amusement park seemed like a screaming labyrinth of rides and food stands. Hank turned back to the vendor; perhaps a park map would help with navigation.

"Excuse me-"

"That! That ride over there!"

He turned about face to see that Cathy was already beelining toward one of the attractions. Reluctantly, Hank followed Cathy, sliding into the line for what seemed to be a rollercoaster called "The Gut Wrencher."

She looked up, arching her back slightly to the sight before her. "Wow! It's way bigger up close than it is in the pictures!"

"You've never been on it before?" Hank asked.

"Nope! This is actually the first time I've visited the park in like… _years,_ now. It's changed a lot. I remember when they were still building this ride back then, and I heard they just finished construction recently. I've been dying to try it out ever since!"

"Then why didn't you just go?"

"Oh well, you know. You don't really ride these things by yourself, right?"

"Why not?"

"It's depressing! It's like… you see all these people around you and they have at least one friend with them."

Her eyes sunk, the smile on her face fading. "Kinda reminds you about how alone you are."

Hank nodded along, his doubt sitting heavy in his mind. Weren't people supposed to be suckers for those bubbly personality types? At least, that's how all those reality television shows he watched during his spare time made it out to be.

"You didn't have anyone to go with?"

"No! Well, I mean…" She turned to Hank, slightly nodding to herself. "That, and I didn't have the time."

The rollercoaster came to a stop in front of them with a loud creak and a hiss. Cathy beamed, barely able to contain her excitement as the passengers from the last round stumbled out of the cars in a daze. Hank followed and sat beside her while the operator placed the safety bar over their heads.

She was practically bouncing in her seat. "Oh gosh, I'm so nervous!"

He wasn't exactly sure how to respond in this circumstance. Maybe if he pretended he were talking to Sanford or Deimos…

Actually, what would Deimos say in this circumstance?

"I bet it'll be like… sex."

Cathy froze in her seat, her face contorting slightly.

"Um… huh?" Cathy replied after a few seconds of awkward silence.

Hank shrugged and reminded himself to never take inspiration from Deimos in the future.

Thankfully, the ride shook forward, completely diverting Cathy's attention as she gripped the brace around her tightly. The cars moved forward, climbing up the first hill...

* * *

… and a couple of minutes later, it was over.

The ride came to a stop once again with another creak and hiss. Hank calmly stood, watching the other passengers stumble out of their seats.

"Woo! That was awesome!" Cathy yelled, raising both her arms into the air.

Hank grabbed her by the arm before Cathy tripped over herself. One step out of the car and she was already about to land face-first into the pavement.

"Ah! Thanks!" She said, pulling herself back up.

"Don't mention it."

"Geez, I can barely stand straight!" Cathy hopped back onto her feet. "Wanna go again?"

"I… think I'll pass," Hank said.

"There are a bunch of other rides in this place after all," Hank immediately added, after seeing signs of disappointment forming on her face.

"You're right! Actually, there's a few more that I wanted to go for at least once, thanks for reminding me! Come on!"

"Hang on, let's just slow down…"

Looking up, Hank realized he had been left in Cathy's dust once again. He sighed, following her to the next attraction: "The Drop."

If it was anything like "The Gut Wrencher," it wouldn't be much of a drop.

* * *

After taking on six of the rides Sunset Amusement Park had to offer, Hank realized why he didn't see the appeal to any of them. Sure, they all moved pretty fast, but that was basically it. "The Gut Wrencher" just slowly went up, skyrocketed down with a few twists and turns here and there. "The Drop" did the same thing, but vertically. "The Typhoon" just spun around really fast. So on, so forth.

Apparently he was supposed to scream his lungs out in exhilaration, as Cathy made _very_ clear right beside him. He recalled her mentioning an "adrenaline rush" after getting off one of the rides.

Maybe that was it. He was missing that rush was supposed to be from a near-death experience. But what death was there to fear? That's what the safety bar was for, after all; Hank had fallen great heights before, during the war. This wasn't going to kill him; he wasn't going to die.

Instead of repeating the same mistake he made at the start of The Gut Wrencher, he just decided to stay silent the whole way through while air blasted against his face in six different ways. If anything, all he could do was let his mind run wild.

Maybe that was it.

Just as with the past five rides, Cathy stumbled out of the sixth while Hank made sure she wouldn't fall over. Her hair was a tangled mess.

"Wow. Wow, wow, wow." She said, leaning back with her arms outstretched against a guardrail. "That was great."

"Yeah," Hank lied.

"Honestly, especially on that last one, I thought I was really gonna die. I mean, did you see the way we just spun around like that? Hard to believe a ride like that's even legal!"

"Same here," He lied again.

Cathy dragged her attention from the sky to Hank, the smile fading from her face. "You're not being honest, are you?"

"No. I'm not." Hank thought for a moment. "At least it's a new experience. I can appreciate that."

"A new experience?" Cathy repeated in disbelief. "Come on, you gotta be kidding me. Doesn't take a reporter to figure out something's off with that."

Hank looked at her. "What's off with that?"

"My dad used to take my family here every summer and I'd drive him and my brother _crazy_ with the rides I went on! He even threw up _twice_ before!" Cathy said, laughing.

It soon died down, her arms contracting to her lower back. "Yeah. You know, now that I think I about it, maybe he was pushing himself so that I could get on all those rides. He probably hated this park because of me."

He recognized that look on her face; the same one she wore when he'd asked her that last question before The Gut Wrencher.

"I don't blame him," Hank said, changing the subject, "because you did convince me on one thing."

"Hm?"

"You're abnormal. No normal human being would go on all those rides the way you did and stay conscious after an hour. Aside from me, of course."

Cathy grinned, crossing her arms. "Well, maybe I enjoy a little bit of a craziness now and then!"

Hank raised his eyes pointedly. "I don't think your hair agrees with that sentiment."

"Huh?" She pulled out a pocket mirror, her eyes widening at the sight of her reflection. "Oh my gosh, how long was I like this?!"

He couldn't help but chuckle as Cathy scrambled to fix her hair with her hands. She closed and pocketed her mirror with a swift movement of her hand, the damage mostly repaired.

"How do I look?"

"Satisfactory."

She looked at him, both cross and amused. "You can do better than 'satisfactory.'"

"Exquisite," Hank amended.

"Minus your sarcasm, good enough," she said, pushing herself away from the guardrail. "It's getting late. You wanna do anything else before we head out?"

"After all that, you _still_ want to go on another ride?"

"No, like a carnival game! I'm feeling kinda done with rides for now."

Hank raised his eyes to the sky. "What 'games' do you exactly have in mind?"

Cathy pressed her hand against her chin, her eyes scanning the area around them. She pointed behind Hank.

"Let's do that one over there!"

Hank turned around, reading the "Wild West Bottles!" sign hanging over the carnival game. Without a word, he walked towards it as Cathy quickly passed him; at this point, he knew better than to try and talk things out once she set her mind on something.

By the time Hank was beside her, Cathy already had a plastic revolver in her hands, loaded with pellets.

"Why, hello there, lass," the vendor greeted with a terrible Western accent, "I see you've taken a likin' to my game here. Mind if I take a moment to explain the rules?"

"You bet, partner!'" Cathy said.

"Alrighty, partner!" The vendor walked all the way back to the end of his booth, where an assortment of prizes were stacked against shelves on the left and right. He flicked a switch and six cardboard cutouts of bottles popped up in the center, two each at three different levels.

"Rules are simple. You take out four bottles, y'all get some free cotton candy. Take out five and you get one of the smaller prizes at the lower levels of my reward shelf. Take out all six and you get to take whatever you want from these shelves. Cotton candy included in all three prizes, of course. Made myself clear?"

"Yep!" Cathy held the toy weapon with both arms outstretched, closing one eye while moving the gun up and down to simulate firing against the bottles. "Ready!"

"Before you start though, I'm gonna have to charge the lending fee on ya for that fine six-shooter in your hands. It'll be two fifty."

Hank watched as Cathy passed her two bills and quarters over to the vendor. From a closer perspective, he took a look at the game; the bottles seemed to be about 20 feet away from where the player is supposed to stand. They were organized randomly, placed close and far from each other probably as a means of disrupting the player's aim.

The vendor quickly counted the cash, nodding. "Six bullets in the chamber, six targets. Good luck!"

After a few seconds of hesitation, Cathy fired. She hit her first target at the lower level as the cardboard bottle fell back.

 _PTING!_

Cathy beamed; Hank noticed her stance - and focus - loosen. She fired her next two shots quickly; both missed.

As expected, her glowing expression vanished. Subconsciously realizing her mistake, she regained her focus and fired again. Cathy's fourth shot just barely hit its mark, but she had become too tense. The next two pellets missed their mark entirely.

"Ooh, just two off from the cotton candy," the vendor said with some sympathy, "Solid try though. Takes most people two tries to be able to hit even two targets. Better luck next time, ma'am."

Cathy pouted. "Aww. It looked so easy too…"

The vendor stored Cathy's money into the register. He was a somewhat aged man wearing circular glasses, face creased with smile lines. A curly mustache laid over his lips, complementing his cowboy hat and outfit.

Something about the vendor's appearance led Hank to a steadfast decision: he did not like this man.

"Is there something you want on those shelves?" Hank asked Cathy.

She turned away shyly. "Oh no, there's nothing in particular…"

"Something caught your eye," Hank pressed on. "You wouldn't have chosen this one otherwise."

"Wellll… if you can hit all six targets, then I'll tell you!"

Hank cocked his head. "You're kidding, right?"

"Pardon the intrusion, but I presume that you're the lady's partner, yes?" The vendor jumped in.

"That would be correct," Hank replied. "Is this all there is to your game?"

"Indeed. I see you're one of those confident types, aint'cha? Well now…"

The vendor leaned in close, wearing a wide grin as he continued.

"I reckon then it should be no problem for a man of your stature to put your money where your mouth is and show your lovely lady here how it's done? You only need four for the candy after all."

"I'll hit six."

The vendor laughed, "Boy, I hope you understand that in the three years I've ran this stand, only one person has hit all six bottles. And it took him four tries, mind ya. Gonna be nice here and warn ya in advance to not keep your hopes up."

"I'll hit six," Hank repeated.

"Have it your way. That'll be two-fifty, partner."

Hank slapped a five dollar bill onto the counter. The vendor passed him a toy pistol just like the one Cathy held in turn. Before the vendor could split the extra pay, Hank spoke.

"Keep the change."

"As a man of modesty, I don't believe in 'keeping change,' partner," he replied.

"A bet, then. Use that extra two-fifty to count."

"Count what?"

Hank lifted the plastic firearm with an outstretched arm. "To five."

The vendor grinned. This was the best kind of customer; the one so stuck up in their own pride that they lose all sense of reason and empty out their wallets just for a measly carnival game. Keeping pride in front of a girlfriend only made it easier.

Five seconds? The man could have the entire stand if he could hit _half_ of the targets in five seconds.

Too cocky. He'd learn his lesson soon enough.

The vendor turned around, placing his finger on the switch. "If you say so, partner. Once them bottles pop, I'll start countin'."

"Good luck, Hank!" Cathy cheered.

He didn't hear her. His mind was flooded with ice; a frigid tension calmed his body, and the world around him seemed to grow a little distant, move a little slower.

The vendor flicked the switch, crossing his arms as he faced the two again.

 _POP!_

Six bottles popped up, but with different positions than the ones Cathy shot at. An unexpected move, meant to throw Hank off and lessen his chances.

It was a futile effort.

"One!" The vendor started counting, "Two! Three!"

 _PTING! PTING! PTING! PTING! PTING! PTING!_

"Four…"

He paused, barely registering what had just happened. His customer's hand seemed to turn into a blur for the single second he used to fire six pellets. That, combined with the sound of cardboard being hit so swiftly behind him… he had never heard or seen anything like it.

The vendor turned his head towards the cutouts. Seeing was believing, but he did not believe what he saw.

Down. All six of them.

The vendor's glasses sagged down his nose. Cathy had the same reaction, her mouth agape.

"Five." Hank said, setting the plastic revolver down onto the counter. "That good enough for a prize, _partner?"_

The old man readjusted his glasses with a shaky hand. The fake mustache above his upper lip started to fall apart.

"Take whatever you want," he said, his role-play completely forgotten.

* * *

"That was _amazing_!" Cathy all but squealed. Hank's victory at the toy shooting range appeared to have rekindled her ebullience. "How did you do that? You were like a _machine_!"

Hank shrugged. "Wasn't too difficult."

It was the honest truth. There was a certain art behind combat of his caliber; he could not have survived the Nevadan War if he didn't discover it.

The enemy, his position, his arms and his aim, his position in the next few moments, the recoil, the order in which the foe would fall; Hank had learned to determine all of those details in the space of a split-second, and execute his dance of death with extreme prejudice.

Using a toy revolver that in his hands had felt as light as air itself, Hank faced six bottles that would never move or fire back. In reality, five seconds for such a practice drill was a joke.

Cathy passed the bag of pink cotton candy she held in one hand towards him. "Stop being so modest and eat some, will you?"

"I'm good."

"I wasn't giving you a choice. Oh, don't look at me like that, try some! For a carnival snack, it tastes surprisingly good, I promise."

Hank took the bag from her half-heartedly with one hand and grabbed a small piece with the other. The thing looked pink and synthetic; it was already starting to disintegrate at the touch, leaving residue on his fingers.

Perhaps, even something as extreme as this could…?

He took a bite to seek his answer. His tongue fizzed, but that was it. Maybe he tasted a little sweetness… or maybe that was just the placebo effect kicking in with the little useless hope sparking in the back in his chest.

Either way, he'd never know; any sensation of taste was now all too alien to recognize anymore.

"How is it?" Cathy asked, completely oblivious to Hank's condition.

"It's good," he lied for the umpteenth time.

"Right? Tastes even better though 'cause you won it for me."

"You trying to flirt?"

The blonde stuck her tongue out in response. Hank eyed the carnival game prize she held tightly in the other hand.

"Anyways, are you really satisfied with just _that_?"

She followed his line of vision, revealing the plastic Hercules beetle toy in her right hand. "Yeah, it's perfect! Just as amazing up close as it was from far away! See how huge its horn is compared to the rest of its body? I like to think about how tough these guys would be if they were man sized. Yes, yes, I know, the atmosphere is too thin for large insects, and any large being with a carapace would be crushed by it. Let a little girl dream."

Cathy waved the toy around in the air, imitating flight. "These guys would be totally bulletproof, and enough backup organs to make an engineer blush! Imagine how they'd look when they spread their wings and fly around- they'd be like insectoid attack helicopters! How awesome would that be?"

"Catherine?"

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Hank, just call me 'Cathy'. Only my boss calls me Catherine. Anyway, what's up?"

"You really are abnormal."

Cathy giggled. "That sure is something coming from you."

They walked the rest of the way to Cathy's home in pleasant silence. A slight breeze passed by as the crickets from the fields nearby chirped their evening songs. Hank glanced sideways at Cathy while she was busy admiring the beetle. While he had initially gone to these "dates" for the sake of tormenting Sanford, he admitted that a small part of himself had brought his body here of its own accord.

Hank wasn't particularly lovestruck with her. Rather, it was the past she had shared and the way she lived in the present that oddly intrigued him. Her progressive and optimistic side, while tedious to deal with at times, radiated a warmth that felt alien, yet familiar. He already knew who she reminded him of: the person whose death served as the reason for him joining the War; the woman he had called Mother.

That person in particular, Hank thought to himself, was better off as a distant memory.

They reached their destination a few minutes later, just as the sun was almost done setting. At her door, Cathy turned around, smiling with her hands crossed.

"I had a really great time today. Thank you."

Hank nodded. He wasn't sure what to do here now, but it seemed he didn't need to think long.

"You have a little cotton candy stuck around your face," Cathy said.

He blinked, turning slightly to his left as he felt around his mouth. "Where?"

"It's around your lips. Wait, here I'll wipe it off for you."

Not even his reaction time could have prevented him from stopping her hand. Her fingers brushed against his right cheek as her thumb was about to trace the corner of his upper lip. As if he had just gotten tazed, he tensed up again. The warmth was gone.

His brain took the stage.

 _An unarmed attack aimed directly at the cranium._

Survival instincts kicked in, unchallenged as they always were. Then, a movement that flew like a blur.

"Ah!"

Her shriek brought him back to his senses. He realized what he had done; his right arm had surged upwards, smacking away Cathy's arm.

"Catherine, I-"

The rest of his words froze in place as he caught the glint of fear in her eyes. It was only a split-second instant, but one look was all he needed for the message to be clear.

He'd hurt her.

Realization hit the young woman, and she quickly tried to change the expression on her face.

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have just forced myself onto you like that!"

"No, I…" The exact words Hank wanted to say wouldn't leave his lips, so a sigh took its place.

"... It's fine. Really. But let's tone down the handsy stuff, yeah?"

"Yeah! Yeah, absolutely fine!" She said, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Um, I guess I'll just see you the next time we're free, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Cathy opened the door to her house and entered. She left it open just enough for her to stick her head back outside.

"Goodnight! Thanks again for today!"

"Yeah. Night."

Her head retracted and the door slammed shut. Hank stood there for a minute, struggling to process what had just happened.

"… Five seconds, huh?"

The bag of cotton candy he had dropped on the floor gave him no reply.

* * *

"Welcome back. How did today go?" Sanford greeted.

Hank shut the door behind him. Deimos had his head in a pillow on the couch while Sanford was reading a book. "84 Basic Ways to Kill a Person."

Apt.

"It went well. Felt like I was babysitting a child, honestly. She wouldn't stop taking me on all these rides."

Deimos laughed into the pillow.

"By 'rides,' you meant amusement park rides, right?"

"No, Deimos. We had passionate, consensual intercourse on our second meeting."

Deimos' head rose in interest.

"You should be able to tell by now when I'm being sarcastic."

Deimos' head fell back into the comfort of the pillow.

"Where'd you go?" Sanford asked.

"Some place called the Sunset Amusement Park. Overpriced for the lackluster experience."

Now, to address the elephant in the room. Hank nodded towards Deimos.

"What's with him?"

Sanford grinned. "He's just angry because I whooped his ass at his dumbass video game while you were gone."

Deimos mumbled something inaudibly.

"How about you stop biting the pillow? We can't hear you otherwise," Sanford said.

Deimos raised his head up, shooting a spiteful glare at Sanford. "I said, 'That's because you cheesed me'."

Sanford raised an eyebrow. "... 'Cheesed'?"

"It's gamer talk for using cheap strategies to win, grandma."

"Oh stop being such a whiny _bitch_ , Deimos. You were the one who wanted to break our tie."

"You're calling _me_ the bitch? You just sat near spawn and camped!"

"I saw an opportunity and used my brain. If it annoys you, that's because you weren't using yours."

"Don't give me that BS. Only idiots fight like that!"

"Is that what you were thinking when you just _stared_ at that flashbang on that one mission?"

"You didn't need to bring up old shit like that while we're talking about a freaking game!"

"I don't know, Deimos. This 'idiot' saved your ass because he was smart enough to cover his eyes, Mister All-Balls, No-Brain."

"Well I saved your ass _ten_ times because you never checked behind yourself!"

"I was the vanguard and you were the rear, Deimos. That was your _job_."

"Since when?!"

"Are you telling me that we went on _all_ those missions together and you never caught on to our strategy?"

"Well no shit I didn't! You never told me about-!"

"Can you two just get a room or something?" Hank said, pressing his finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose. "There are more important things to worry about than wasting your time on video games."

Deimos waved his hand at him. "Yeah, yeah, we know. The raid tonight."

"And all this idiocy will get you both killed. Stay focused on what we're going to face later."

He left the room as his two partners were left in silence. Deimos turned to Sanford.

"Since when did Hank get that uptight?"

Sanford closed his book. "Since always. You don't like it?"

"No. Just that… usually he'd just walk away whenever we're arguing. Kinda weird seeing him react like that now."

"Well, take a wild guess as to why that happened," Sanford said getting up from his recliner. "He's still right, though, on the gaming thing. Get the cash."

"For the record, we're gonna have a rematch once we get back!" Deimos called out as Sanford left the room.

* * *

As per agreement, the trio retrieved their armor and weapons from the police station. They decided to leave the car there this time around; parking any vehicle somewhere in Dead Nevada was just asking for it to be stolen.

Langstone Bar was livelier than usual; the pub was full of random passers-by, loudly carousing at the tables or passed out on the floor. It was another busy night for bartender John Langstone, as he frantically served drinks and wiped tables, taking in the cash he earned and returning change with the wadded bills in his apron pocket.

For someone in his 50's, Hank noted, the barkeep could use an assistant, at the very least.

Augustus sat in his usual spot: behind a pool table, his feet propped up on the edge. Somehow, he'd managed to fall asleep amidst the chaos.

The trio walked towards him, stopping in front of the pool table. Augustus opened his eyes and grinned.

"Ready for business?" He asked.

Deimos slid the briefcase across to Augustus. "Here's your answer."

He opened and closed the briefcase, shaking his head. "Yeah… no. Sorry boys, but this won't work."

"Why not?" Sanford asked.

"Because you're 5K in debt."

Deimos was taken aback.

"Uh… This is what we've always given you."

"True, but the info on me right now is _particularly_ valuable. So I'll be needing extra."

"Bullshit!"

"You might want to lower down your voice, kid," Augustus said. He leaned forwards and spoke in a whisper: "Unless you want to involve the rest of the bar."

They felt the gazes of a few curious patrons surrounding them. Deimos grit his teeth and balled his fists.

"Deimos."

Hank's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"What?"

"Pay him the extra on a check. We're wasting valuable time."

"Are you serious?!" Deimos' voice rose, forcing Sanford to elbow him to make sure he lowered it again. The techie continued in an indignant whisper. "You're just okay with him scamming us like this?!"

"You're the one who dragged us into this with your miracle plan. Do you want to get this mission done, or are we backing out?"

"I..!"

Deimos turned to Sanford, expecting some form of support. To his surprise, Sanford shrugged instead.

"Money isn't a problem for us, Deimos. This is your call." Hank added.

The techie glared back at Augustus, who was still leaning back on his seat. "You heard them. And you better hurry, this is a one-night deal."

For the first few seconds, he stood stock-still. Nothing came to mind other than walking away, but that was impossible now. Not after everything that's happened.

Deimos pulled out his wallet and filled the check. He threw it towards Augustus who, after inspecting it, nodded in approval.

"Pleasure doing business with you again."

"Go fuck yourself, you greedy bastard."

Augustus grinned, turning to the back exit.

"We're going to need to meet in the back alley again. There's too much attention here."

As such, they followed him out of the bar. After carefully checking their surroundings for any eavesdroppers, he turned to them and put out an open hand.

"I need a map."

Deimos smacked one into his palm. Ignoring the young man's excessive force, Augustus pointed at a spot on the parchment.

"They're called the Order of the Gray Blood. The Nevada Devils were their only serious form of competition. And since they've been disbanded… you fill in the rest of the blanks."

"How many-"

"The question isn't 'how many,' in this case," Augustus said, cutting Sanford off. "There's about a hundred of them swarming around the place now. And they're only going to keep multiplying like roaches unless someone does something about it."

"A hundred men? We'd need an entire army to storm the place then," Sanford said.

"Which is why their _leader_ is your target. I don't know what you three were using to subdue all these gangs before, but I think it's safe to say you won't have enough ammo to clear this one out, no? Like I said, valuable info."

Deimos felt his blood run cold. This was a fighting force similar to a major AAHW outpost. And the last time he'd gone through one of those with Sanford…

He shook his head. No, that was something he should leave buried. All those nightmares, they'd just come back as strong as before. They would only remind him of how much more fragile his life was now… how much more fragile all their lives were.

Sanford remained silent. The same thoughts were running through his head; the survivor's guilt and the weight that was lifted by the mercy of the Powers. If it wasn't for that… where would he be now? Would he even be the same person?

Was any of this even worth it anymore? Maybe there was a fine line that was being crossed here...

"You two have doubts, don't you?" Augustus asked, the traces of a smile appearing in the corners of his mouth. "Fear takes a very distinct form in a man's eyes."

Deimos scratched the back of his head. "Well, it does make you think…"

"Then stop thinking," Hank said harshly.

Sanford and Deimos turned to face him.

"Are you two telling me that after everything you've went through, _now_ you're scared of dying? All that pampering after the war must have made you kids soft."

Sanford shook his head. "Hank, we need to be a bit realistic here. Think about our odds."

"Okay. If you're so keen on your 'odds,' then go cook me up a buffet as I finish off this mission. Alone. Or are the knives in the kitchen too sharp for you to handle now, you need some safety scissors?"

"Look, Sanford's right," Deimos interjected. "Let's do this smarter. There are other chances we can take up that'll have less risk for the same reward!"

"Deimos, honestly, fuck your reward. Do you really think I ever gave two shits about how the public saw me as? Spare me your crap about honor, justice, courage, and whatever the fuck else. I'm doing this because I need a fight. This is a fight. Follow me in, or don't. So long as you don't get in my way, it doesn't really matter."

Deimos sighed. There was no point arguing; only Hank J. Wimbleton would give an answer like that and mean it.

"You know what? Fine," Deimos said. "If you get yourself killed, I might as well be there to see it, so I'd feel only half as bad as not being there at all. But for the record, screw you."

Hank crossed his arms. "Yeah, doesn't feel that good to get your ass dragged into something you don't want to do, does it?"

"I swear to Jebus, if I get killed because you're trying to get revenge all this time…"

"Don't get killed."

Deimos slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Shit, didn't think of that! Thanks for the advice man!"

They both faced Sanford for his opinion. He frowned.

"Fuck you both, you're not leaving me in the kitchen."

Deimos turned to Augustus. "There you go."

Augustus clapped his hands. "That was mildly entertaining. Could you do that more often?"

"No," all three combatants replied at the same time.

"Your loss. Might have added a discount to your next briefing if you agreed to it."

Augustus went back to the map, pulling a pen out of his pocket. "If it wasn't obvious before, I'll make it clear now. Stealth is the key here. This street right here-"

He circled a row of streets.

"-will be full of hostiles patrolling the area. Dark clothing is a must. The Order is already well aware of what you three are doing and will be on high alert. Being seen will only give the leader an opportunity to escape.

"You have only one chance. If at first, you don't succeed, either die trying or come back home as failures. That's it," Augustus finished, handing Deimos back his map.

In silence, Sanford and Deimos headed towards the back exit of the bar. Hank stepped in their way.

"Hank?" Sanford asked.

"Wait." Hank replied.

He turned to Augustus, who still had a smirk on his face.

"Augustus. Your intel has been pretty extensive-"

"And always will be, might I add," Augustus said.

"Right," Hank said, easing himself, "though there's something that's been on the top of my mind recently. Someone, actually."

"And who might that be?"

"Daniel Richards."

He noticed something glint in Augustus's eyes, but nothing more.

"You can't be serious, right? What the hell would Augustus know about-"

"You'd be surprised, Deimos." Augustus said, his words lacking the fake charisma he usually sprinkled on.

The three went quiet, focusing all their attention on the man making their dream possible.

"Daniel… or should I say Dan, as we called him back in the day, was my colleague in high school. Very bright and athletic young man, naturally popular. I was a close friend of his… at least, that's what he said."

"One day, around the middle of our senior year if I recall correctly, news had spread that Dan had abandoned his home and family. His father was gruesomely killed in action during the war, so he enlisted. When the War ended, veterans who just wanted to return home from the Agency came back. He didn't.

"Most soldiers who remained missing were simply labelled as dead. No real attempt had been made by any organization post-War to reconnect any of the veterans with relatives or friends, as they were brandished as criminals when _your_ organization toppled theirs. Didn't help that none of the leaders of the AAHW lacked the care to keep extensive records of their soldiers either."

Augustus stared down at the floor. "Daniel Richards… especially the one back from high school, is six feet under by now. If you're looking for him, you've got a lot of ground to cover."

"How do we know you're not lying?"

"Do you believe I would have any reason to, Hank?"

Hank kept pegging him down with his eyes. Sanford sighed.

"Hank, let's go. Weren't you the one who said we're wasting valuable time?"

"Right," Hank said, turning to the back door. "Let's go."

He exited the alleyway, Sanford and Deimos following closer behind.

"Consider yourselves fortunate that I didn't charge extra for the bits on Mister Richards!" Augustus called after them, just before the door slammed shut.

His eyes met with the Earth again, this time to a dirty puddle on the ground. Only the hiss of a broken steam pipe at an irrelevant place and shouting from irrelevant people combated the all-too-familiar silence.

* * *

"Your big speech in front of Augustus was badass and all, but do you even have a plan in mind?" Sanford asked as they were walking out of Langstone Bar itself.

"Assess the situation when we're there. The usual."

"So basically, don't worry about it 'till it actually becomes a problem," Deimos stuck a cigarette in his mouth. "Sounds like my kind of plan."

"Which is exactly the reason I don't like it," Sanford said.

As yet another heated argument began between the two, one of the customers sitting nearby the entranceway noticed Hank's wallet. Intoxication overrode logic as he saw the opportunity for attack. He reached out with his arm…

… Only to find himself unable to move it any further as Hank's hand gripped it in a vice.

"You going for my ass, or something else?" Hank asked the patron.

"N-nah man! I was just stretching was all!" He yelled back, desperately trying to pull back his limb.

"Is that so? Let me help you out with that, then. I know a really great exercise for the back. It's called the wall slam."

"The wha-?"

 _BAM!_

With all the force he could muster, Hank swung the patron off from his seat and into the wall beside them. The would-be thief fell to the ground, twitching like an injured insect.

Hank turned back to his two comrades-in-arms. "This is why you don't waste all your time thinking."

Sanford gestured behind them. "Yeah, well take a good look at what _that_ does instead."

The rest of the bar had gone silent, all attention focused on them with mixed expressions. If they didn't gain everyone's attention before with Augustus, they certainly did now. Deimos tapped at Hank's shoulder.

"How about we leave before you attract any more drunk dudes, yeah?"

Nothing else was discussed as they walked the streets of Dead Nevada. Hank didn't put too much thought on it, but talking to Augustus only made the feeling of something amiss grow stronger. Daniel Richards might be far away, but he was still out there, somewhere. He knew it.

And so did Augustus.

* * *

(Original) A/N: Okay, first off, I would like to obviously apologize for updating so late. The reason being is this: I caught a fever very recently after taking the HPV shot (yes it's for men too since it can cause cancer of the penis) and it caused a reaction in my body. I first had a headache and then a 105-degree fever (I'm not exaggerating this), and everything tasted like shit. The top of my tongue had turned snow-white and I realized I was infected with something (no, not HPV). I went to the hospital for my high fever and the doctor diagnosed me obviously as sick. Tomorrow, I get to know exactly what got me so sick. Now, my headache and high temperature is gone, and in its place, I have a MASSIVE sore throat.

Enough about me, I want to say thank you for all my supporters and advisors on the forums of . I have made a new thread called: "New Multi-Chapter Madness Combat Fan fiction" and if you wanna see what all the fuss is all about, come on by and chat with us. I'm still Spirit9871 there and I had a blast listening to different people.

Special thanks to Cryono, one user on for inspiring me and Wulf for wishing me to feel better. I'm thinking about making a Sanford/Deimos fanfic after this one is completed because of popular demand. So, I'll have the category of yaoi and straight Madness Combat Fanfictions in my stories (no lemons though). Fun for everyone!

I'm a bit stuck here because a couple of my thoughts had been wiped out by my illness. I'll update as soon as I can so we can finish this story off with a bang. See you in Chapter 14.

"Stay thirsty my friends."

~The Most Interesting Man in the World

* * *

New A/N: … So uh. That was an interesting Author's Note I left behind there. Let's just… pretend I didn't say any of that now (especially the bits about the HPV), cool? Cool.

Anyways, the old forums I was referring to in my old Author's Note doesn't exist anymore. Apparently whoever owned it forgot to pay the fee for keeping the server up, so… yeah, there's that. I will admit though, there is a little part of me that's glad that the posts I made on there back in 2012 are gone for good. Thinking about it now, I think the guys on those forums were just dicking with me at the time, lol.

Let's get to the Changelog before I go any further into detail about things.

* * *

 _ **Changelog:**_

1 - Chapter title changed from "Augustus is the Key" to "Answers." The old title had a spoiler for the very same chapter it was covering, so it wouldn't make sense to keep it that way (and once again, longer titles just don't sound good).

2 - MASSIVE changes regarding the date scene with Cathy. We get to see more of her as a character now rather than just have her as "blonde grill." Also some more realistic (but painful) interactions between herself and Hank.

3 - Oh yeah, I added more rides. Fuck you, it's a carnival.

4 - Carnival shooting game. _Five seconds, partner._

5 - Cathy's an insect-lover. Okay we'll make it even clearer in the future; hope it doesn't _bug_ ya.

6 - I'm sorry for the pun in 5.

7 - "Wall-slam" exercise. According to Hank J. Wimbleton, it's really good for your back ( _this statement has yet to be approved by a physician_ ).

8 - Grammatical errors removed.

9 - Narration and dialogue improved.

10 - Diction enhanced.

11 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

That settles that. As I'm writing this, it's June 3rd of 2017. Summer break just started last week so I hope I can at least get this rewrite and Hank's Legacy done before it's over. Honestly, I need to stop procrastinating so much…

Once again, thank you all for reading (or rereading) this monster. Hopefully it's a lot less of an abomination it was back in 2012, but it really feels good being able to use what I know now to fix what I made before. This story will hold a special place in my heart, but honestly, it could at least look a lot more… presentable.

We hope you've enjoyed this rewritten chapter of Final Salvation! See you next time!

~Spirit


	14. Mad Tendencies

Chapter 14: Mad Tendencies

* * *

Knock out the gang leader of the Order, take his body, dip. Easier said than done.

At least, that's what Hank, Sanford, and Deimos all thought while hiding behind a dumpster.

"You couldn't have chosen a better place to hide?" Deimos whined, covering his nose with a hand, "The fuck are they hiding in these things?! Body parts?!"

"They're swarming out there like roaches. Any closer would risk blowing our cover before we even set foot into their territory," Hank said, his eyes still focused on the outer perimeters of the gang's complex.

Sanford shrugged. "Honestly Deimos, the odor isn't so bad. After your room, there's really not much that can faze me anymore."

"I can break your nose, if that'll help," Deimos offered, brandishing a clenched fist.

They had already gone home and gotten equipped. As per Augustus' plan, they wore dark clothing and were going for the kidnapping. The complex where the leader was located in wasn't far from the Nevada Devils. It was, in fact, in a large part of Dead Nevada, so getting there didn't take long by foot.

For one thing, Augustus was right during the briefing. Order of the Gray Blood gangsters were seemingly scattered everywhere, both inside and outside of the run-down building. Augustus's suggested plan of kidnapping the leader was only made more appealing by the sight; the only thing giving the three comfort in this situation was their equipment and dark attire.

Aside from the warnings Augustus gave, it became evident to Hank that just sitting around, waiting for some sort of miracle to happen would be suicide. There wasn't enough information on the inside of the complex and thinking of a complicated strategy would probably lower their chances.

So...

Hank turned to his other two roommates. "This will be real simple."

Deimos nodded, "I like simple."

"You two stay here. I'll go for the leader."

Instead of agreement, a moment of awkward silence hung above the three. Deimos frowned, nearly jumping out of cover in his moment of excitement.

"What the fuck?! You trying to get yourself killed?!"

"Didn't you say you 'like simple?'" Hank asked.

"Yeah, as in, plans that _aren't_ bat-shit stupid!"

"Deimos is talking sense, Hank. Which says quite a bit about your… 'strategy,'" Sanford said, "Let's think this through a bit more carefully."

"You want to think it through?" Hank replied, his tone changing. "Alright, here's what I think. There isn't a lot of time and breathing room with this mission. If we're going for a kidnapping here, it's better if only one of us goes in. Their numbers aren't a problem. If our cover is blown though, their leader's going to make a run for it. The last few raids, you both were particularly bad at infiltration. So I'll do it myself this time."

"But-" Sanford began to protest.

"See, this is exactly what I didn't want to deal with. Didn't I tell you two back at the bar that if you're going to just slow me down with your insecurities, you were better off not coming here in the first place?"

That shut them up.

"Then what the fuck do you expect us to do while you're running around in those black pajamas?" Deimos asked, making no effort in hiding his ridiculing undertone.

"If I'm on the verge of capture, you can distract the gangsters and divert their attention away from me. Knock them out when they come over, and just make sure you don't bring the whole gang to your location. Otherwise, we're all fucked," Hank explained.

Again, the two of them went silent. Deimos pouted.

"We shouldn't even be on this mission then, Hank, if you'd just told us what you were planning."

Hank chuckled. "Who knows? You two just might save my life again."

Sanford rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah Hank. We know no matter how much you seem to amaze us, you're not immortal."

Deimos pulled out the map with Augustus's markings on it.

"Here. Considering your suicide plan, you're gonna need this more than we do." He passed the map over to Hank. "Just... don't screw up, alright? Last time I had to haul your dead ass, you got blood all over my favorite clothes."

"Considering you got shot up while you were using that regeneration chamber, I'm certain most of it was yours, Deimos."

"I'm tryin' to be nice here and you decide to remind me about the first time I died. Fuck you."

Hank pocketed the map and, on impulse, reached out to clap Deimos lightly on the shoulder. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Sanford waved him off. "Go. Sooner you get yourself killed, sooner we can laugh over your grave."

Without another word, Hank headed off to his destination. Deimos turned to Sanford.

"... You don't think he's _actually_ going to get himself killed, right?"

"Meh. Him dying would mean no more waking up at five in the fucking morning to make caviar toast."

Deimos looked at his friend.

"Seriously, San?!"

"What? You worried about the caviar?"

"Of course not! Well not entirely... but that's obviously not it!"

"Relax. I was joking," Sanford said, readying his tranquilizer rifle. "He won't die, because no matter how hard he screws up, we're here to unfuck it. Come on, let's get to higher ground."

"Bet I can-!"

"No. Fuck your bets. Last time you won our bet on that Agent with your cardboard cutout trick, you wasted my NevAlcohol Credits on another pack of cigarettes. I needed those beers, and our room reeked of smoke for three days afterward."

"Correction: our room reeked of my _victory_ for three days, San."

"Your 'victory' nearly gave me cancer."

"That's the best fucking part!"

* * *

Borders were abstract. Man-made lines formed for compromise between two different groups of the same species. They solidified divisions, defined identities, and, in cases like the Nevadan War, they served as warnings. To most, those things were intangible and irrelevant. To Hank J. Wimbleton, they all helped reinforce one familiar thing:

Murderous intent.

The feeling of his feet pressing against dirt they were never meant to press against, the same chill in the air that felt different as soon as he entered hostile territory, and the venom in the gazes of the men around him that have yet to meet his own eyes… these were all byproducts of the borderlines. To any sane person, they were meant to instill fear and anxiety, providing trespassers no feeling of welcome.

Like a beast released back into its natural habitat, Hank never felt so much more closer to home.

Footsteps interrupted his train of thought. He swifty dived to a nearby pile of garbage, providing cover as a group of gangsters walked off. The black fabric of the bags only amplified his invisibility.

Hank rechecked the map Deimos had given him. He looked towards the top of the building he was supposed to infiltrate. The roof wasn't too high up; at best, it was around 12 feet from where he was standing.

His plan would work.

Hank ran up a foot on the side of the building. He grabbed hold of one of the nearby pipes lining the outer wall, pulling himself upwards as quietly as humanly possible. The gangsters that had originally passed him returned. All they had to do was look up for the intruder.

The veteran could feel Death by his doorstep.

With a swift kick off the wall, Hank leapt towards a fire escape. His feet landed onto the railing and rolled onto the platform itself.

 _Clang!_

For someone with his mass falling onto rusted metal, the noise his feet made as gravity pulled him back to Earth was inevitable.

"What was that?" Hank heard one of the Gray Bloods beneath him ask his partner.

Hank remained stock-still, retaliating against the sounds his body was making from adrenaline coursing through his veins. Going up the stairs would only make more noise and defeat the entire purpose behind his tactic. Moments like these were the only ones that made him closer to God, he supposed.

"Probably just some rat jumping around," the other Gray Blood replied after a solid minute of silence. "Fucking things are scurrying around like the own the place, thanks to the shit pest control in this cesspool of a state."

The two gangsters walked off again, resuming their conversation. Once their voices had become distant, Hank hurried up the stairs of the fire escape. After reaching the summit, he used a nearby windowsill to climb onto the roof. Feeling his feet on the rooftop eased the muscles in his body.

Death didn't knock.

He checked his map again, confirming the location of his target for a third time. There was no doubt about it now; he was right atop the Gray Blood hive, with the queen bee just a little out of reach.

His blood raced through his veins again, senses growing sharper. It was a familiar urge that only came out in the right conditions, one just as intense as a wild animal in heat. One that he hadn't felt for a very long time.

A nearby skylight caught his attention. Peering through the glass revealed two more gangsters standing beneath, totally oblivious and distracted from the impending doom just a few feet above.

Hank unconsciously crumpled the map in his hands, dropping it to the ground like useless litter. His compulsions intensified; the last two times they had gotten to this point were during the last few years of the War. Despite his orders to remain undetected as best as possible, in both times he failed to suppress them.

And this would inevitably be his third.

He balled his fists. "The bastard shouldn't be too far now, so…"

His impatience refused to allow him to finish his sentence. After a swift kick cracking the glass, the veteran burst through, dropping between the startled hostiles. They panicked, screeching as they shielded their heads from the falling shards.

"What-?!"

That was the only word one of the Gray Bloods managed to utter before Hank had pulled out his weapons. On his left, he carried the dart rifle. On his right, the pistol variant. He fired both simultaneously, three darts landing in each target.

With shocked expressions still plastered onto their faces, the guards fell to the ground, totally paralyzed. A wave of nostalgic ecstasy shuddered through the intruder, which was quickly replaced with a slight tinge of regret as more footsteps headed his direction.

"Shit."

* * *

Sanford pulled his vision away from his scope, mouth agape.

"Oh my God, he's actually insane."

"What? What's happening?" Deimos stammered.

"The roof, check the roof! How did you not notice him-?!"

Sanford stopped mid-sentence as his eyes told him that Deimos was toying with his cellphone. "You're kidding me."

Deimos raised his hands up chest-level, phone still in grasp. "Okay, look. I know this seems really stupid on my part, but I've been playing this really awesome text-story game and I'm just about the bang the princess after-"

Sanford yanked the electronic, blindly throwing it away in the distance. Deimos watched as it flew in the air, hands grabbing at the hair on the sides of his head.

" _THIRTY-TWO GIGS!"_

Before he could run off, Sanford grabbed at the back of his overcoat, sitting him back down.

"Hank's plan failed! He's in trouble!"

"What?! Fucking-" In a panic, Deimos quickly focused his sights back through his own sniper, adjusting his aim. "It's literally only been _eight_ fucking minutes!"

"Yes, Deimos, I'm aware!"

Like roaches scattering after having their nest upturned, the gangsters maintaining the perimeter began to flood back towards base. In a matter of seconds, it became clear that the entire Order was aware as to what was happening.

"Shoot as many of them as you can, Deimos!"

The duo immediately opened fire as a barrage of darts flew towards the backs of retreating Gray Bloods one-by-one. Consequently, after seven hits, a few of the other remaining gangsters outside caught wind.

Deimos quickly packed his rifle as he saw through his scope one of his targets pointing at him.

"San, they know we're here! We need to move, NOW!"

Hearing this, Sanford also did the same with his own sniper. He gritted his teeth as he pulled out his automatic dart rifle instead.

"Hank… what the fuck did you do?!"

* * *

"What the fuck did I do…?" Hank muttered.

He was running as fast as his legs could take him, mowing down anyone who dared to oppose him and leaving their bodies littering the hallways behind him. The brief seconds he sacrificed slowing down were only for reloads.

Bullets whizzed past his head as he rounded another corner. Three more Gray Bloods climbed up the stairs, cutting him off at the halfway point between himself and the lsat office down the hall. Hank realized he was out of both options and ammunition.

 _Smack!_

The emptied dart rifle flew from Hank's hands and into the gangster's face. The lead guard staggered, bumping into the two others behind him by each shoulder. There was nothing the three of them could have done as Hank fired a rapid shot towards each of their chests from his tranquilizer pistol. He made a mad sprint for the final doorway separating him from his target, push-kicking the door open. Bullets pierced through door only seconds after he managed to slam it shut and roll out of the way.

Five seconds.

As he immediately rose from the ground, Hank raised his pistol with his left hand, reaching out for a nearby chair with his right. He jammed the door behind him with the chair, pupils darting all around the room for even the slightest hint of movement.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

Nothing.

There were no places to hide in the room large enough for an adult gangster to be taking cover behind. He was in the right room; he was sure of it. And yet, neither bullets nor death threats flew towards the infiltrator.

 _Nothing_.

A breeze whooshed through the air. The window was left opened.

Hank ran towards the back of the room, hands perched on the windowsill as he stuck his head outside. Beneath the fire escape was a white van that had just closed its doors.

The doorknob to the office rattled behind him. He narrowed his eyes.

"Motherfucker…"

* * *

"Start the fucking car!" The leader of the Gray Bloods ordered from the passenger's seat.

His inferior fumbled with the key, finally getting it into its appropriate socket. After two unsuccessful twists, the engine came to life.

The boss sighed in relief at the sound. The bastard who was causing all this chaos was still probably stuck in the room he had just escaped, fighting for dear life. It would take at least half a minute to get down from there to here.

The confident smirk on his face had barely formed before something crashed down onto the hood. He jerked back into his seat, mentally unprepared for the fist that crashed through the windshield and into the face of his driver. He felt the collar of his shirt tugged towards the front of the vehicle. His eyes were just barely able to confirm the one thing he was afraid of most.

"How did you… t-that was four stories!"

"I drink my milk, like a good boy," Hank said, pressing the barrel of his pistol against his target's forehead. "Move and you die, like a bad boy."

The Gray Blood's head froze in place, giving Hank the opportunity to pull out his unconscious subordinate and take control of the driver's seat in his stead. He fired a dart into the shoulder of his hostage, slamming his foot on the accelerator as frantic shouts rang out from above.

* * *

"I'm out of ammo!" Deimos yelled.

Sanford tossed his pistol towards his partner, focusing back on the advancing attackers. He They were suppressed and pushed back to their original hiding spot in the alleyway by the dumpster, losing what sight they had of Hank at higher ground. Peeking out from cover any longer than a second would be suicide.

Deimos continued to fire for dear life, until-

 _Click, click, click!_

"Sanford!" Deimos cried out.

A car horn flared through the air just as the Gray Bloods were by their faces. They turned only a moment before being knocked to the side by a white van. The door to its side flew open.

"Get in!"

At this point, it wouldn't have mattered if they didn't recognize Hank's voice. They jumped in, graciously accepting the offer.

"FLOOR THAT BITCH!" Deimos yelled.

The tires screeched as the stunned gangsters nearby helplessly watched the van speed off. Sanford and Deimos were knocked towards the back of the van, hearing the bullets pinging off metal loud and clear. Heavy breathing from the trio replaced the deafening noises of the infuriated men they had just escaped.

"We're not dead, right?" Deimos asked, feeling his body for any unnatural holes.

Sanford's pale face turned red. "The fuck were you thinking jumping in like that?! Stealth, my arse!"

"Certain circumstances led me to some desperate measures, so I-"

"Bull _shit_!" Sanford kicked the back of the driver's seat. "I saw what you did! You nearly got us killed for your fucking power trip!"

"Hey, San, easy," Deimos interjected. "What matters is that we got the job done."

"You're _literally_ the last person on Earth that can say that right now, Deimos!"

"Chill out! We got the leader, right? Well we should be celebrating, man! Get the beer and ring up some hot chicks, dude!" Deimos insisted. The techie then turned to Hank. "Where's the ugly son of a bitch anyways?"

"Riding shotgun," Hank replied.

From the back of the van, Deimos peered over the passenger's seat. He reached out for the top of the leader's head.

"Let me get a closer- WHOA!"

"What?!" Sanford shouted, still in overdrive.

Deimos lifted up the black, hairy mass in his hands. A wide smile slowly formed on his face in realization.

"HE'S WEARING A FUCKING WIG! HAHAHAHA!"

Sanford watched as his partner fell on his back, suffocating from laughter. He glared daggers at Hank through the rearview mirror.

"Alright, tell you what," Hank said, meeting Sanford's eyes in the reflection, "I'll give you a pass on making my meals for tomorrow to make it up to you. Once in a lifetime deal."

"Three days," Sanford negotiated.

"Two. Take it or leave it."

Sanford grunted. "Fine. Eat shit."

"Wouldn't be able to tell the difference between that and your cooking, to be honest."

A split second later, Hank felt the impact of Sanford's foot on the back of his seat, followed by a peal of laughter from Deimos. The youngest of the three finally composed himself.

"Nah, but seriously, what were you thinking when you did what you did back there? It's not like you to do something like that, Hank."

Even though it would never leave his lips, he already knew the answer to that question.

"Look, Deimos. I'm a bit tired, alright? Can you save this for some other time, or preferably never?"

"Tired? Since when did the almighty Hank J. Wimbleton start getting tired?" Deimos teased.

That question he didn't answer or at least bother to think about; he was too busy fighting the unusual jitteriness in his hands. He pressed his foot against the brake pad, slowing the van down to a halt.

"Deimos, take the wheel."

The smirk on the techie's face vanished.

"Uh… sure?"

They switched places. For some reason, the sound of Deimos switching gears just before the car lurched forward lulled Hank to sleep. That's the only thing he could think of right now.

Sleep.

Sanford watched as Hank slipped into unconsciousness.

"Deimos?"

"Yeah, San?"

"Looks like 'cheese' strategies do work out after all, huh?"

"Wha...?"

"Camping by the dumpster."

Deimos blankly stared at the stretch of road ahead of him. Perhaps it was how empty the space in front of him that made the hacker realize what Sanford was referring to.

"Sanford."

"Hmm?"

"You're still a bitch."

Sanford smirked as he pulled out his cellphone, punching numbers into the keypad. He placed the device next to his ear. It would only be a couple of miles until they reached the station from here.

"Chief?" Sanford began.

 _"Sanford? Ah. I assume things worked out?"_

"Yep. We're driving over with the leader to the station right now."

" _Great. Caught anyone else?"_

"Well… no. We kinda had a bit of trouble along the way. This is the best we could have done without getting ourselves killed."

 _"That's more than fine. I can only imagine what it was like if even you three had trouble. May I speak to Hank?"_

"Hank? He's uh, a little tired right now."

" _Define 'a little'?"_

"... Unconscious."

A moment of silence over the call.

 _"Is he alright?"_

"He's just exhausted, that's all. After we made a dramatic escape."

 _"'Dramatic escape'? What happened out there?"_

Sanford continued to give out details as they crossed the line back to familiar territory. He glanced at the side-mirror; the road behind was just as empty as the road ahead. A weight lifted itself off his chest as he sank back into his seat. It would only be a couple of minutes until the station would be in range.

 _"...Where exactly are you three now?"_ Harley asked.

"We're just crossing the border over Dead Nevada back home."

" _Alright. I'll be waiting. If you need any assistance, don't hesitate to call."_

"Thank you."

 _Click._

Sanford pocketed his cellphone, sighing. "Right. Gotta go back for the car too… assuming nobody found and stole it by now. Fucking great."

He noticed the newfound scowl on Deimos's face from the rearview mirror.

"What?" Sanford asked.

"You're buying me a new phone, for the record. Either that, or you're giving me yours so I can fry it too."

"We have more money in the bank than we know what to do with. Just go get a new one."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the fuck up! Why am _I_ supposed to go through all the damn trouble of getting a new phone?!"

"Because if I wasn't paying attention to Hank either back there, we would've gotten ourselves _all_ killed. So technically, I've saved everyone's asses here, while you were trying to 'bang' your imaginary princess."

"I spent an entire _month_ on that save! And frankly, money doesn't bring back those 32 gigs!"

"32 gigs of _what_ , exactly?"

Deimos pursed his lips. He then smacked them after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"That's beyond the point-"

"That's _exactly_ the point!"

"ANYWAYS!" Deimos shouted over Sanford, "What's up with Hank?"

"Did you not hear me say he was unconscious over the phone? Or is this just a bad attempt at trying to change the subject?"

"No! Like…" Deimos groaned. "I thought you were lying about that, 'cause he didn't want to talk! It's not like him to just... _pass out_ , is it?"

By Deimos's words, Sanford stared back down at Hank. He noticed the unconscious fighter turn his head, almost as if bothered by an unseen presence. The involuntary movement made Sanford press his left hand against Hank's forehead.

"Deimos?"

"What?"

"I think there's something wrong with Hank."

"Wha… Huh?!"

"I _said_ , I think there's something wrong-"

"Yes, I heard you the first time around, thank you! But I meant like, _what_ is wrong with him?"

"He's burning up."

"What?!"

"Deimos, are you deaf?!"

"Goddamnit, just shut the fuck up and switch places with me! I don't believe you!"

The van was stopped for a second rotation of drivers. Sanford pressed down on the accelerator as soon as he could, using more force than Deimos did. Deimos didn't need to do much before realizing what little color that was usually on Hank's face was drained out.

"We have like, only a mile left before we reach the station, right?"

"Assuming traffic stays this way, yeah."

"Good. 'Cause Hank, he's…"

"I know, Deimos. I'm driving this thing as fast as it goes."

* * *

(Original) A/N: Wow. That was a lot of fast-paced action to cover. It was extremely challenging trying to describe all the Madness Combat action, but I hope that you at least got a good image of what had happened. Plus, this was probably a dramatic set-back for the plot. Believe it or not, this chapter was 3,500 words! So, this is something I wanted to give you guys to make up for my absence.

I'm starting to doubt if my story is actually catching much attention, but I am doing my best to keep you all entertained. However, I want to see how you guys are handling it. What do you ultimately think of this story so far? Is it getting boring? Or are you still hooked by the clues I've given so far? Reviews are important, and I would love to hear from as many people as I can.

Thank you for following this story and I'm sorry updates are going so slow. I've just recovered from my fever and now I realized that it's getting harder to stretch this story out without boring people. Don't worry. A lot of suspense will follow this chapter. Keep an eye out for new updates and such. Good night, and see you in Chapter 15.

* * *

New A/N: It still feels really surreal reading how different my level of optimism was from 2012 when I first wrote this story to now in 2017. If I recall correctly, it's almost been exactly five years now since I first started my stories. God.

Let me showcase the changes before the team's made before I start detailing what's been happening on my end:

* * *

 _ **Changelog:**_

1 - Chapter title changed from "To Catch a Mockingbird" to "Mad Tendencies." It just sounds better. No, really, that's it.

2 - MASSIVE changes regarding the combat scenes between our heroes and the Gray Bloods. A lot more description of the battle sequences, the events leading up to them, and the events after. Also more realism and consistency too; when I first read the original version of this chapter, even I couldn't understand where and what was really happening.

3 - Got _milk?_

4 - THIRTY-TWO GIGS!

5 - He was wearing a fucking wig. Hey, managing gang work can be hair-ripping levels of stress.

6 - Grammatical errors removed.

7 - Narration and dialogue improved.

8 - Diction enhanced.

9 - The _universe is a better place._

* * *

Okay, that's that. And now my end:

This chapter was probably the easiest out of any of the 13 before it so far to work on. In fact, I think it actually took only four days to rewrite it; not bad considering my… problematic track record.

The real news though is that I've made a lot of drastic changes in my lifestyle to accommodate all these interesting projects I'm working on (of course, that includes this series). I've pretty much surrendered most of my time from gaming and set it to some other more productive means. Beyond writing my chapters, this includes language studies, reading, and even creative projects outside Madness. Basically put, things are just looking up from here, so hopefully many of you are still around to still experience it.

Alright, that's all that I really needed to say. I'm gonna go straight for Chapter 49 of Hank's Legacy now (been alternating between that and this rewrite the entire time). Hopefully you guys enjoyed this rewritten chapter!

Until next time. :)

~Spirit


	15. Absurd and Dumb Things

Chapter 15: Absurd and Dumb Things

* * *

White ceiling. Home.

Those were the first two thoughts that formed in Hank's mind as he sat up, light filtering through the curtains of the single window in his room. He grunted, holding his head with his right hand as the sensation of sudden consciousness overwhelmed him.

"The fuck..."

Images of the raid flashed through his head. As he was confirming his suspicions, he noticed Deimos peering into the room from the crack of the door.

Hank moved his hand back to his lap. "I'm awake, you know."

"About time," Deimos said, entering the room. "Sorry. I had to check up on you every hour or so. You know, just to make sure you were breathing. Sanford's usually too busy jerking himself off in the kitchen."

Hank glared at him. "I hope that's just your _charismatic_ way of saying 'cooking.'"

"Would it make you feel better if I said it that way instead?"

Hank checked his surroundings further; his eyes fell upon the clock on the nightstand at his side. His vision was still slightly blurred, so he brought it close to his face to make sense of the hands.

 _Three in the afternoon._

"Oh, a shower might be a good idea," Deimos said casually, leaning against the doorframe. "I was _not_ about to wash your comatose ass.""

Comatose?

"Deimos," Hank said slowly. "How long was I out for?"

"Two whole days, I think… Or was it three?" Deimos stared at the wall in thought. He shrugged. "Lost track."

"You're shitting me."

Deimos tilted his head. "Do I look like I'd joke about something like that?"

"Yes," Hank said.

"Ha. Fuck you," Deimos replied. "We had a doctor visit when you didn't wake up after the first morning. He said you were too tired, which was why you hit a fever while we drove you back."

A _fever?_ Hank couldn't remember the last time he had a sore throat… assuming he could still even feel one.

"Hank?"

"What?"

Deimos stared at him for a few seconds seriously. "You hiding something from us?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean…" Deimos sighed, looked at the floor, then back up at Hank. "Look, man, I'm not trying to be nosy or patronizing here. I'm actually worried about you, and knowing Sanford, he probably is too. You're not being yourself."

"Isn't that what you two wanted in the first place?" Hank grunted.

"There's a difference between wasting away and not being a total moron."

Hank closed his eyes and lay back on the bed slowly. "Just give me my space, Deimos."

"You know, after saving _your_ ass from _your_ stunt two nights ago, the least you could do is give me an answer," Deimos folded his arms across his chest.

Hank remained silent for a few seconds. Knowing his roommates, not laying everything out now, truthful or not, would just burden him with unnecessary inconvenience later.

"Clowns," he said quietly.

Deimos blinked. "Huh?"

"Clowns," Hank repeated. "Passed out thinking about one. Tiring shit, you know?"

"What the fuck do clowns have to do with you nearly getting all of us killed?!"

"Look, you wanted an answer and you got one. Now leave me alone."

"Is that what you expect me to go and tell Sanford? He'll think I'm a dumbass."

"He already thinks you're a dumbass," Hank retorted.

"You know, now I really regret not drawing cocks on your face while you were still asleep!" With those words, Deimos pushed himself off away from the doorframe and disappeared, slamming the door behind him. Just before it closed, Hank heard him mutter, "Would've been funny too!"

Hank was alone in the room now, save for a splitting headache.

"Just another day…" He groaned.

* * *

If there were two things Hank's ludicrous bet taught Sanford, it was how much he missed the taste of a normal breakfast, and how much he valued not having to wear a maid's costume three times a day.

Crumbs scattered onto the remnants of eggs and sausage on his plate as he munched on his toast. The last few days passed by quietly, a sensation he hadn't felt since Deimos had suggested his revolutionary redemption plan.

Heavy thumps of footsteps from the hallway interrupted the short-lived peace. Deimos appeared at the doorway leading to the kitchen.

"He's awake."

Sanford frowned. All dreams had an end.

"Great."

Deimos raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound too happy about that."

"I'm not. I'm the one who has to make sure we don't starve to death around here, and Hank's creative tastes aren't making it any easier."

"Hey, I did work too, just like you asked!" Deimos said indignantly.

"Yeah, you pulled the eggs out of the fridge. Really saved me a number there, bud, _just_ like you promised me you would."

"I… fine!" Deimos crossed his arms. "Just give me something to do and I'll do it a million times better than you ever can!"

"Okay." Sanford lifted up his food-stained plate. "Wash this."

Deimos looked at it quizzically. "One plate. Really."

"Consider it a test about…" Sanford thought for a second. "Discipline, or some shit like that. Before I give you anything bigger to deal with."

Deimos's face lit up in understanding. "OH! Sorta like that teacher in that karate movie, right?!"

"Uh… Yeah. Sure."

"Alright then! Just you watch!" Deimos grabbed the plate. "Once I'm done with this, you won't even _recognize_ the plate just 'cause of how clean it'll be, Mister Miyagi!"

Sanford shook his head as he watched Deimos rush towards the sink.

 _BRRRING! BRRRING!_

The phone rang as soon as he got up from his seat. He picked it up and pressed it against his ear.

"Yo. Yeah, I'll get him."

Grunting, Sanford pushed himself off his seat and headed for the bathroom. There, he found Hank leaning against the sink.

"Well, you look like shit."

Hank glanced at him. "Been trying out your style."

"Just being honest, no need to be so hostile." Sanford passed him the phone. "Here."

"Who's on?"

"Cathy."

"Fucking-"

Hank took the phone from him as Sanford went back to the kitchen.

"Hi."

 _"Hank? Hey, it's me, Cathy! I was wondering if you wanted to, you know, go out again?"_

Hank silently marvelled at her ability to remain so unwaveringly upbeat.

"Cathy? How do you know our number?"

 _"Deimos told me,"_ Cathy replied brightly.

"Of course he did," Hank said.

An awkward silence hung above their call.

 _"So, um... are you available?"_

Hank pressed his index finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose. "Cathy, as much as I'd just _love_ to go outside for some fresh air, I'm… not in the mood."

 _"Oh."_ There was a pause. _"Are you alright?"_

"Yeah, I'm fine."

" _That's okay. If you're feeling sick, we can always go another time, after all."_

Him. Sick.

The thought of it only made him _sicker_.

"On second thought, I should be free tonight."

" _Wha… really? Are you sure? I mean you don't have to if it's too much of a-"_

"I'm positive," Hank reaffirmed.

" _Uh… okay, then! It's settled! See you at 8!"_

"See ya."

A click signalled the end of the call, followed by rhythmic, monotone _beeps_ of a dead line _._ Hank cursed himself inwardly as the magnitude of what he had just done settled in.

"What the fuck did I just do?"

Shadows from the other side of the bathroom door caught the corner of his eye. Just as he flung it open, they hurriedly vanished into the next room. Hank rolled his eyes as he walked towards the kitchen.

"Just because I just woke up from a coma doesn't mean I'm not aware of my surroundings."

Sanford peered over the day's local newspaper. "Something the matter?"

"Well, for starters, you're reading today's paper upside-down, and…" Hank squinted at the ground. "There's a trail of water mixed with dish soap conveniently leading itself towards the sink to where-"

"I wash dishes _really_ hard, okay!" Deimos replied, a bit too quickly.

The only sound in the room was running tap water, as Sanford slowly tried flipping his newspaper around.

Hank crossed his arms. "Deimos-"

"SANFORD SPIED ON YOUR CALL WITH CATHY!"

Sanford folded the newspaper away and glared at Deimos. "Way to throw me under the bus, buddy."

"I'm sorry, San! I'm not good under pressure!"

"Oh, so hacking government databases isn't enough pressure for ya?!" Sanford's voice rose.

"MY SELF-ESTEEM DIED WITH MY COMPUTER!"

Hank raised a hand.

"I'm still here."

Sanford and Deimos froze, focusing all their attention on the oldest of the trio.

"Okay. Now that I have your attention, I want to make something extremely clear. As much 'help' as you guys are being so far, I don't appreciate you two sticking your feet into my territory. The first strike was setting me up with this woman in the first place. The second was in the park. This is the third."

"You knew about the park?" Deimos said incredulously.

"A _blind man_ would've realized you two were stalking me."

Deimos's face turned a slight shade of red.

"Point is," Hank continued, "I'm being generous by giving you two one extra, final strike. If I catch either of you butting into any of this bull again, I'll be out of patience. It'll mean the end to a lot of things you both enjoy, and more. Am I making myself clear?"

The two other men nodded.

"Good. We start this agreement with me leaving the house and no one following me. Let's enjoy this new common ground to the best of our abilities."

And with that, Hank walked out of the kitchen. Hearing the front door slam shut, Deimos let out a deep breath of relief.

"Man, I hate it when he gets serious..."

"And whose fault would that be?"

"Listen man, you could _feel_ his glare go through you. Like bullets. And I should know how that feels like."

"We've both been shot before, Deimos."

A large cloud passed by, blocking any sunlight from entering the lone window of the room. Sanford shrugged.

"Either way, it's obvious Hank would've figured out we were sticking our heads in the wrong places. Was bound to happen one way or another, I suppose."

Deimos waved the plate he washed five times over in the air. "Why the hell would he be so upset that we didn't tell him something he wants to know? He sure as fuck doesn't tell us what _we_ want to know about him!"

"People who tend to deal with more shit say less, Deimos."

"We fought the same war he fought!"

"But we weren't alone when we fought it." Sanford looked up. "And for the love of _God_ , turn the sink off. You've probably wasted two gallons of water by now."

"What're you so worried about, San? We don't need to pay bills anymore. The house literally pays for itself."

Deimos jerked the faucet handle in the opposite direction with his free hand. He stared down at the plate he held in his hands, buffed so hard he could see his reflection in the ceramic.

" _Nothing_ actually matters anymore, now that I think about it," he said quietly. "We could rot away here and die, and the rest of the world wouldn't give two fucks."

"That's just how things are, Deimos," came Sanford's reply. "We've had this conversation before and even went through with your idea to fix the problem."

"We did, but... " Deimos paused. "Maybe it's not everything that I wanted in the first place."

"Then what _did_ you want?" Sanford asked.

"I don't know, man. Maybe someone... _genuine_! Not like a girlfriend or anything, but like… _people_ in general, cause everyone else's been nothing but fake! And now we get to add Hank to that list."

"Was I not genuine at all?"

The faucet spewed tired droplets of water onto the wet metal of the empty sink as Deimos said nothing.

"... You know, Deimos, I think you're right about one thing." Sanford rose from his chair again, his fingertips pressing against the kitchen table lightly. "A lot of people tend to be "fake" because that's the only way we can fool ourselves into thinking the world works best for us. Hank's no exception. But people need a reason to be genuine, before they become it."

Deimos turned to Sanford, locking eyes with him.

"Hank's changed a lot, you know," Sanford added. "For better or worse, I'm not sure. Judging by how up-in-arms you are right now, you've probably noticed it too."

Deimos barked a laugh. "You mean the part where he fell into a coma after nearly killing us both?"

"I'm being serious, Deimos."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I've noticed it too. Don't know what to think of it, really." He lowered the plate. "You think it's because of… well, ya know?"

Sanford tilted his head in thought. "Maybe it is. And if it's true, then that's all the more reason not to step into it anymore, like he asked."

The clouds parted as the walls returned to their normal levels of illumination. Deimos donned his signature grin again.

"Bet she probably gives killer handjobs then, if-!"

Deimos made the obscene gesture with his plate hand, which caused the soaked ceramic to slip out of his grip. Sanford ducked as the flying saucer whizzed over his head and into the wall behind him. Deimos's cheeky smile turned nervous.

"Hey, uh, Mister Miyagi?"

"Just... get the fucking dustpan."

* * *

Hank walked down the all too familiar road towards the city.

The world seemed a lot calmer to him today, even though the hubbub and the judging gazes of the people he passed remained unchanged.

He'd stepped out thinking that a walk outside would clear his mind. Instead, it suffocated him as much as being at home did now.

Hank kept walking down his usual route, past the pharmacist he had no personal use for and the newspaper stands that were boasting more and more articles about himself, and the two people that came the closest in the world to understanding him. Going nowhere and coming back to nowhere, thinking no thoughts. Raw feelings took their places instead of thoughts like unwelcome guests to an interminable dinner party.

Emotions that weren't supposed to exist because they were hunted to extinction three years ago. All abstract and dumb.

Something to his right caught his eye, and he locked onto a discrepancy in the neighborhood he had long ago memorized by heart. A restaurant had once stood on this street, but the business had changed both management and purpose, apparently. It was what was on display behind the window pane that caught his attention when it shouldn't have.

"Deimos," he muttered.

For the first time in decades, he heeded the advice of his abstract and dumb emotions. He walked into the store.

* * *

"I'm done, Sanford!" Deimos called out, shutting off the vacuum.

Sanford didn't look up from the book he held in one hand, raising a thumbs up with his free hand from his comfortable position on the couch.

"Great," he called. "Put the vacuum back in the closet."

"You know," Deimos began, "I don't think you had to put me through all that work for one stinkin' plate. Pretty sure the broom was more than enough."

Sanford allowed himself a small smile. "Can't be too sure about those shards, though."

"Yeah, but…" Deimos turned towards the entire kitchen floor, sparkling clean and absolutely free of all residue. "The glass wouldn't have spread all over the place! You even made me clean the bottom of the sink!"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. You're right."

"What!" Deimos' voice rose in indignation. "Then why'd you make me do it?!"

"Why not? You were cleaning up in the first place, so might as well, right?"

"You baited me into doing your chores!" Deimos pouted.

"Just like Mister Miyagi, Daniel-san."

"Oh, fuck you!" Deimos slammed the bottom of the vacuum against the ground, knocking it over onto its side. "You can't just steal my lines like that and then-!"

"Okay, okay! Look, how about this?" Sanford folded folded his book and set it aside to look at his partner. "Considering you can't make anything more complicated than a grilled cheese sandwich, I'll make you whatever you want just for tonight, for helping me out."

Deimos' hard feelings evaporated. "For real?"

"Yeah. Thanks to his little nap, Hank forgot to tell me what he wanted me to make for him today, and I doubt he's gonna care enough to remember dinner. I'm willing to also extend my offer after I'm done with Hank's bet, assuming from here on out, you can help tidy up the place. _Without_ breaking anything in the process."

A twinkle appeared in Deimos's eyes. "Even steaks?"

"Even steaks."

"Seriously?! Until the end of time?!"

"Assuming we're alive by then, yeah. And also as long as you do your part around the house when I ask you to."

Deimos hesitated on that last reminder. He stood the vacuum back up and pulled out a cigarette.

"As long as you never make me have to do the dishes anymore."

"Not making that same mistake again, don't worry. Can I also ask you another favor?"

"What?"

"Smoke _outside_ , like a decent human being would!"

Deimos looked up at the ceiling. "Ugh, yes, mother."

He brought his hand towards the front door, but just before his palm could wrap around the knob…

 _WHAM!_

In a blur, the door flung open and Deimos was on the ground, clutching at his face. Hank poked his head inside, looking down at the techie.

"Ah, fuck me..." Deimos groaned, clutching his face.

Hank walked inside, closing the door behind him and stepping over his roommate. "I would say sorry, but I genuinely don't feel like it."

"I personally find it pretty funny," Sanford added.

Deimos got up, his fists clenched. Just as he rose his fist in retaliation, Hank grabbed it and sent one of his own in a palm strike. Deimos stumbled two steps backwards.

"Goddamnit, Hank!"

"That was instinct." Hank shook his head wisely. "Don't do that."

"FUCK YOU!"

Hank turned away, speaking with a mocking tone. "And here I was, thinking I'd give you a nice gift…"

"Why, I oughta'... wait. Did you say, _gift_?"

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think I hit you hard enough to knock your hearing out."

"Wait, no, seriously! You got me something, like…"

It was just then Deimos noticed that Hank was carrying a large bag. He pointed at it.

"... in there?"

"I wasn't planning on pulling it out of my ass, so yeah."

Deimos was instantly back on his feet. "Yoo, pass that shit!"

"Now, now," Hank said, raising the bag away from him. "You haven't exactly _earned_ since I walked back into the house, did you?"

"You smacked the door into my fucking face!" Deimos protested.

"And you tried smacking me back. Intentionally, mind you." Hank waved a finger at him. "That's not very nice, Deimos. What do we say to other people when we do things that aren't nice?"

"That's not fair! You should apologize too if-!"

"On second thought, I should probably just go back and return this now while I-"

"NO, WAIT, I…!"

Deimos gulped, looking down at the ground. "... sorry."

"Could you repeat that again? Only this time, with your voice?"

"I said, 'I'm sorry!'"

"Good. Now say, 'I'm Deimos, and I'm a virgin who does nothing but jerk off in his room and play videogames.'"

"Hank, come on!"

"Store closes in an hour, Deimos, and if I'm gonna make a return, I'll do it today."

"Fine, I…!"

Deimos turned around, meeting Sanford's judgemental stare. He grimaced as he faced Hank again.

"... I'm Deimos, and I'm a virgin who does nothing but jerk off in his room and play videogames."

"Jebus Christ," Sanford muttered from the living room.

"Perfect," Hank said, pulling a smartphone out of his pocket. "Forgot to mention on my way back, I got a new phone. And you just gave me its first ringtone."

" _I'm Deimos, and I'm a virgin who does nothing but jerk off in his room and play videogames,"_ the device recited.

Deimos sighed in resignation. "Can you just give me the thing now?"

Hank passed him the bag, which Deimos swiftly opened, bringing out a box. The techie glanced at Hank with growing suspicion; Hank nonchalantly passed him a knife.

"... If this isn't worth it, I'm gonna take back everything I said, you know. Including what's on that phone. Those things are way easier to hack than AAHW tech."

"Well threatening me isn't going to open the box any faster now, will it?"

Deimos looked back at the cardboard container. Knowing Hank, a slight tinge of dread settled in as his initial excitement was wearing off. The knife cut through the cardboard box like it wasn't there at all, and Deimos cleared away the styrofoam and plastic packaging by the handful to reveal the object.

"No _way_."

Energy flooded back into him as he raised a black, rectangular object into the air like Simba in the opening scene of _The Lion King_. Sanford quickly realized what it was.

A laptop.

"NO FUCKING WAY!" Deimos squealed. "IS THIS THE NEVTOP 7 ULTRA? WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?!"

"New computer store opened up in the city. I asked for the best thing they had." Hank shrugged. "Guess they weren't lying."

"AH! AHH! AHHHHH!" Deimos looked at Hank, then Sanford, then back at Hank, and then back at Sanford.

"SANFORD! SANFORD, HANK GOT ME THE NEVTOP 7 ULTRA! THIS SHIT HAS A VIDEO CARD FOR ITS FUCKING _VIDEO_ CARD!"

"If you wanted it so much, why didn't you just go out and buy it yourself?" Sanford asked.

"I actually _was_ looking for this model all over the place! But these things cost a fortune, and without the Internet to help, it's harder than finding Waldo! Would've taken me nearly a month just to get hands on this thing!"

Sanford turned back to his book. "Maybe if you didn't waste all your cash and time constantly on porn, cigarettes, video games, and eating garbage, you'd have had one weeks ago."

"You shut your mouth!" Deimos then turned to Hank, grabbing his leg. "THANK YOU! THIS IS LITERALLY THE BEST FUCKING THING ANYONE HAS EVER GIVEN ME!"

"Let go of my leg, Deimos."

Deimos removed his grip, and jumped back onto his feet. He raised the laptop again, making a full sprint towards his room.

"WOO! I'M GONNA WATCH _SO MUCH PORN_ TONIGHT!"

The footsteps grew quieter and quieter, until they were inaudible. As he heard the door to Deimos's room slam shut, Sanford shook his head.

"I should've honestly recorded that last line he said too. Save it as my messenger chime," Hank said.

"You might as well go up there and ask him to say it again for you. He was two seconds away from sucking you off right in front of me."

"Not even in your dreams, Sanford."

"Definitely not in my dreams, because witnessing that would be a _nightmare_ ," Sanford closed his book. "I'm sure he was lying about not having the money. He could've gone out to buy that thing himself, without having to make himself look like a total idiot to you. And even if he didn't have the money now, it wouldn't take him that long to save up, even if he wasted half of it on smokes and e-chicks."

"I know."

"Of course you do. And we also both know you don't care that he went so far. Because to him, it was about _more_ than just the gift."

"You trying to insinuate at something here?"

"Yeah. You're usually kind of an asshole. What, don't look at me like that! You egged me on for that answer and you know it!"

"Just for that, you're making me lasagna."

"Uh, no I'm not? Didn't you say I was free from making your shit for two days?"

"Yeah. And according to Deimos, during those two days I was in a coma."

"Ugh, that little…" Sanford pointed the spine of his book towards Hank. "Anyways, do I look like I went out shopping for lasagna ingredients?"

"No. Which is why that big ol' asshole Santa Hank brought _you_ 'presents' too."

Hank pulled a plastic bag he left by the front door into the living room. He unloaded what was inside onto the ground: various cheeses, ground beef, tomato sauce, and, of course, lasagna noodles.

"I'm going out with Cathy in a few hours, so I want this done in two. I haven't eaten for days and I need those carbs, else I don't think I'll have the energy to make it to the date."

Sanford threw his book at Hank, who caught it mid-air.

"For that, add two chocolate souffles to my order, or else a certain blonde is getting stood up tonight."

"Fuck you. You would've guilt-tripped me into making the dinner either way!"

"You had your break." Hank tossed the book back to Sanford. "Oh and, don't forget your uniform."

Just like that, Hank was walking back to his own room, leaving Sanford and a pile of groceries alone in the living room. The sounds of Deimos's bed creaking from the floor above was audible in the quiet. Sanford sighed.

"Just another day…"

* * *

(Original) A/N: Another gag chapter. I hope you enjoyed it, because the next chapter is going to focus on Hank and Cathy's relationship like a promised from the last chapter. However, I watched the stats of my story and noticed that some chapters had more views than other chapters that came before them.

I suggest to those of you not reading this story in proper order this: DO NOT SKIP CHAPTERS. That will ruin great surprises to some of you, and this fanfiction won't seem interesting to read because you already know what comes next.

Anyways, I want to thank you all for following this story. I'm trying to skip time instead of going day-by-day for each and every chapter. The problem, however, is that I don't know if people would be okay with the fact that I am skipping a lot of Madness Combat action. This story has to last for a while, and I can't stop just at 20 chapters. I would say, at the very least, 32 chapters, since it makes this feel more worthwhile.

Reviews would be appreciated, and I will update the story A.S.A.P. Good night, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Final Salvation.

* * *

(New) A/N: Admittedly, the original version of this chapter wasn't too awful compared to the past 14 we've had to edit so far. I mean, it's still pretty shit, but at least it wasn't _total_ shit, you know? I liked the concept at least and it actually ties in pretty well with the renewed vision I have for this story.

The bar just gets lower and lower baby. Hoohah.

Right so, let's list out the changes!

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ :

1 - The original title of this chapter ("Just Another Day") was renamed to what it is now. Reason being is that I think it adds more weight to the chapter itself and I wrote the original title only because it's a reference to Incident 010A.

2 - Instead of just watching TV and being a bum, Deimos is actually made useful for something… disregarding the fact that he broke the only plate he was told to wash. Ever. Also, Sanford extends his meal deal to Deimos… but will it hold?

3 - Sanford and Deimos have a deep talk for once about things (ever since Chapter Two). Before, they really didn't do much other than dick around and joke about smoking.

4 - Deep introspection into Hank, regarding _absurd and dumb things_. The consequences will never be the same.

5 - It's a NEVTOP ULTRA 7! IT COMES WITH A VIDEO CARD _FOR_ ITS VIDEO CARD!

6 - Lasagna dinner. Make it for breakfast and lunch too for that Garfield diet.

7 - More description added

8 - Grammatical errors removed.

9 - Narration and dialogue improved.

10 - Diction enhanced.

11 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

Done.

SOOOO~

Originally, I was planning on uploading this entire fanfic in one blow, but instead uploaded the first five chapters prematurely on Madness Day of 2017 (which was actually one week ago from when I'm writing this Author's Note). Feelsbadman.

Apart from that, not much has been happening on my end. Been reorganizing my lifestyle after my vicious work season at Staples and stuff. Also going cold turkey on gaming has certainly helped me free up A LOT of time. Like, holy shit, I really wish I spent those 1800 hours in CSGO writing instead.

That's all I gotta say. Alias and Sacrom; how are you two doing?

* * *

 **Alias,** deciding demanding detractors don't deserve dues, described doing dos dogmatically despite despicable, degenerate deplorables denouncing dogmatic doings; That's how I'm doing!

* * *

... Very well, I see.

Alrighty, time to wrap this up. Hope you all enjoy this chapter's rewrite! See you next time!

~ Spirit


	16. MC-Squared

Chapter 16: MC-Squared

* * *

Occasional bird chirps amidst the scattered trees served as the final calls for the evening. Cricket song would soon replace them as the sun was almost out of sight behind distant skyscrapers. Under the fading orange, the last of the children were saying their goodbyes to each other, heading off in opposite directions.

Coming here the third time around didn't make the scenery any less older.

Hank could already see Cathy on the bench, staring upwards. He wouldn't have been surprised if the biggest thought running through her head was who would come first; the moon or her date. Hank stopped, giving himself a moment to sigh. Then, with newfound resolution, he finished the last part of his trek up the hill to her.

"Sorry I'm late… again." Hank rubbed at the back of his neck. "Like I said, I wasn't feeling that great earlier."

She shrugged, still maintaining her stare towards the clouds. "It's fine. Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," Hank said. "Didn't think we'd meet up this late though."

"I thought a change of time would be nice, especially since you were feeling sick."

Cathy got up from the bench, dusting herself off. Her miniskirt and white silk blouse became clear to him. For a moment, Hank imagined how she must have looked and felt in that outfit sitting on a park bench alone.

He was the reason for that.

"Perfect for the occasion too," she said.

"Occasion?"

Cathy grinned at him.

"Let's go to a club!"

Hank crossed his arms. "A club?"

"Huh?"

"You do still remember that first hit piece you wrote about me, right?"

Cathy waved him off. "Oh, hush. Nobody's going to recognize you. That's a long while ago and you're not wearing anything _close_ to that outfit you wore the first time around, don't worry."

There was a lot more to worry about than just being recognized. Frankly, being recognized was the last thing he was worried about; he would much rather take a walk around the park again than go back to another club.

"Is there… something that I don't know that would make it a problem?" She asked.

His answer was the same one he gave Deimos when the hacker bombarded him with questions as soon as he awoke from his coma. But unlike now, Hank wasn't on a date with Deimos that was sinking faster than the Titanic.

And, unlike now, his answer back then was a lie.

"No." Hank did his best to hide his chest puffing up. "Was just uneasy at first was all."

"Great! _Club M_ it is then!"

Club M. Again.

As Cathy turned around, all the air Hank stored up quickly dashed out his nostrils. He left a mental note making sure to ask her where they were heading _before_ agreeing to these dates.

"... Fantastic."

* * *

"We're here!"

Like the park, very little had changed about the front entrance of Club M since he had picked up his roommates. Sure, some seasonal decorations were scattered here and there around the neon lights, but the cheap ornaments made Hank wonder why they even bothered putting anything up in the first place.

In a confident stride, Cathy walked through the entrance alone. She walked back out in a less confident one a minute later.

"... You know, you have to walk _through_ the front door to get inside," she said.

Hank could only muster a low grunt. She rolled her eyes.

"Yeesh, do I really have to do everything tonight? Come on, let's-!"

As soon as she reached out to grab his hand, she retracted it. The ending of their last date replayed in both their minds. Hank rolled his eyes.

"Ahh… fuck it."

This time, Hank took the lead as they walked back in. Going inside couldn't be any more painful than waiting outside like this… right?

The booming of the bass was completely audible the moment Hank pushed the door open. He wasn't sure whether it was the timing that they arrived compared to when he last came here, but the nightclub felt a lot more crowded than before. Neither factor helped with the migraine he was starting to develop.

Cathy stood by his side. "Are you okay? Do you wanna sit for a bit?"

"Was it that obvious?"

"We haven't even touched a drink yet and you already look like you're about to throw up!" She took a small step away from him, narrowing her eyes. "... You're not _actually_ going to throw up, right?"

At that moment, Hank realized he had his hands on his knees. He wasn't sure when he had lost track of his bodily movements, but it certainly didn't help his embarrassment to notice it from his date. The veteran straightened out his back, pushing against the bizarre fatigue.

"No, I'm not going to vomit. And even if I was, the last place I'd do it on is a white dress…" He felt his back arch slightly. "...but I'll take you up on your earlier offer for seats."

Cathy led the way while Hank tried making himself as small as possible. The odds of anyone recognizing him in his getup was slim, but it was better not to take any chances. Once they reached a free table, he fell back on his chair. Not even a small amount of relief came to him, despite sitting down. It wasn't the coma; something here was making him feel dizzy.

Or… perhaps something that _was_ here.

He had to get out of here. If not physically, then at least mentally.

Hank raised a hand towards one of the workers who had just finished serving another table. The young man walked up to him.

"What can I do for ya?"

"Get me some beer. Nothing too strong, just something to numb this headache I got."

"I… don't think it would be a good idea to drink then."

Hank pulled a bill out of his wallet. "I'll tip you a twenty if you stop acting like my doctor."

The waiter shrugged, taking it from his hands. "Your body."

Once their server was away from earshot, Cathy was the one to sigh. "Okay. What's really wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Catherine." Hank's tone was slow and methodical, as if explaining a complicated concept to a child. "Just a little unusual for me to be out at this time with things piling up on my schedule out of nowhere. Thanks to Sanford and Deimos dragging me along their little escap-"

"Hank."

It was the first time Hank heard his name come out of her mouth that way; a form unusual enough to make him stop rubbing at his eyes. Though she didn't know the exact reasons behind his break in composure, she had been with him long enough to know what they weren't.

"... This was the place where one of my ops happened back in the War."

Hank looked away from her, facing one of the walls. Hazy, faded tidbits of his memories returned to him; an Agent with his throat pierced laid motionless in front of a poster with a pile of Grunt bodies that no longer existed. Subconsciously, he pointed at the wall as he continued to speak.

"That's where you would round the corner to the dance level. It used to be in the basement instead of the first floor. And from there, I..."

Loud screaming drowned out the booming club music. A bloody figure in grayscale laid on the ground with the muzzle of a revolver against his head, sweat running down his body fast, heart beating faster. His thumb pressed against a small red button connected to a switch, like a finger around a trigger. And, like his finger around the triggers of so many weapons he held, half a second of hesitation was all he needed before that last, painful burst.

It was after the silence settled that Hank recognized those screams as his own. Screams from a time when your life mattered less than the mission you set out to finish.

The music of the present crept its way back into his ears. When he looked up, Cathy's expression was almost as unsightly as the recollection.

Hank swallowed, tightening his jaw slightly. "What?"

"You can't just say 'What' after what you just told me!"

"Well, I just did."

"I meant…" She blinked as hard as she could, hands half-heartedly raised. "Why didn't you just tell me this sooner?"

"I didn't think it would be that big of a problem. Place was renovated since the last time I came here. And, besides," Hank gestured towards her. "That dress of yours. Wasn't cheap, was it?"

"I don't care about the dress! Did you really think I would care about it more than you?" She shook her head, slightly grateful that the music was loud enough to cover her outburst. "Just… ugh, God _._ You know, all this does is just make that feeling feel _worse._ "

"What feeling?"

"... Never mind that." She leaned in towards him. "Do you feel like you can get up so we can go?"

Hank raised a hand. "Relax. It's just a little bit of adrenaline. I'm sure if I just get buzzed a little, this stupid PTSD bullshit that's ruining our evening is gonna go away, okay?"

The way Cathy slowly sat back down emanated anything _but_ confidence. Thankfully, the awkward silence between them didn't last long as the waiter passed by them again. Hank grabbed at the cerulean bottle he was carrying on his tray.

"Thanks."

"Hey, wait-!"

He had already chugged down half of the bottle by the time the waiter had sputtered those two words. The other half was gone just as quickly.

A squeak left the waiter's throat as Hank lowered the bottle from his face. As expected, it didn't taste like anything, but...

"Fuck, that actually burns. I thought I told you to bring me something light." The expression on his face twisted as he turned the bottle to its front label. "'Devil's Toe'? Sure feels like sucking on one. What the hell's in this stuff?"

The waiter's lower jaw quivered. "Ohhhh… shit."

His patrons' eyes widened as they saw the six shot glasses on the tray, forming a circle around where the bottle was. Hank grabbed at the worker's collar.

"Excuse me?" Hank whispered.

"Th-that wasn't for your table!" The waiter raised his hands up. "You just grabbed it out of nowhere, so, uh!"

Hank released his grip. He turned to the blonde.

"Yeah. I think we should go. Now."

As Cathy stood up, Hank stumbled to his side. She ran up to him.

"Are you okay?!"

"Uh…"

His vision was already starting to blur and spin. The back of his head started to run cold.

"Two…" Hank sputtered.

"Huh?"

"Three… four… fiiiiive?" Hank squinted at her. "Four more Catherines than usual… ahah… "

Cathy turned to the waiter. "Get us a glass of water, please."

"Err… bottled or-?"

"Does that really matter right now?! Go!"

He ran off as soon as she gave the order. It wasn't until the waiter was gone from view that Cathy realized Hank had slipped out of her grasp while she was distracted.

"Hank?"

In this commotion, getting a response from him even if he was a few feet away from her would have been a miracle. The fact didn't make her heart sink any less though.

"Oh God…"

Cathy weaved her way around the crowds while she frantically called for him. Along with the clubbers, the music felt like it was growing louder by the second.

* * *

Hank meanwhile, had managed to waltz his way around to the backmost part of the building. Making it to his destination, he immediately called out:

"Hay! HAYYYY!"

On his second shout, the DJ finally noticed Hank standing a few feet away from him. The DJ pulled off his headphones, lifting up his shades.

"What?!" He yelled back at Hank.

"I've heard a _clown_ play better stuff than this load of techno, soft pop rock garbage!"

The DJ flipped him off. "Fuck you, man!"

Hank pulled out his phone. "Play this instead!"

"Plug your mixtape somewhere else!"

"This was duh shit here like, five years ago!" Hank nudged the phone towards his direction. "Try it, if ya have the balls!"

Curiosity caused the DJ to hesitate on putting his headphones back on. It got the better of him as he unplugged its jack from his own machine.

"If it's still trash after the first minute-!"

"Just listen to it, ya faggot!"

* * *

The lone sound that would come out of Cathy's strained vocal cords was her heavy breathing. Scrambling around almost the entire area of the floor, she didn't feel any closer to finding Hank. Worst-case scenarios replayed in her head as she finally surrendered to using her cellphone.

 _BZZT!_

Just as she was about to dial a number, the device went off itself. Cathy jumped, barely managing to catch her phone just before it hit the ground.

"Hello?"

" _Hey Cathy! How's it hangin'?"_

"Deimos?"

" _The one and only! Wanted to check in and make sure everything's alright, with Hank just waking up from a coma and all. Where's that big asshole anyways? He's not picking up his phone."_

"I need your help, Deimos! Hank's intoxicated and I don't know where he is!"

" _Huh? Where are you guys?"_

"Club M!"

" _So you mean to tell me Hank's running around Club M of all places, shitfaced?"_

"YES!"

The lack of response on the other end of the line didn't help her anxiety. "Deimos?"

" _... Let me go get Sanford, hang on."_

Some shuffling was followed by: _"Sanford! Sanford, where the fuck's my camera?!"_

" _How the hell would I know? Use your phone for Christ's sake."_

" _Not for something_ this _legendary! We need this footage in HD, baby!"_

" _Footage?"_

" _Hank's piss drunk at Club M! This is gonna be fuckin' INSANE!"_

" _What?!"_

" _I know, right?! Cathy's on the line right now telling me- AGH, hey, hands off!"_

More shuffling. The distinct change in voice also signalled the change in speakers.

" _Cathy?"_

"Sanford! Hank is-!"

" _I heard. We'll be there in 10. Just make sure he doesn't… explode or something. Already have enough shit with the cops as is. DEIMOS! Forget the camera!"_

" _I FOUND IT MYSELF ANYWAYS, SO FUCK YOU!"_

 _Click._

* * *

For the first few seconds, the song garnered no reaction from the DJ. Fifteen more later, the musician's head was already in full bobbing motion.

"Okay. Okay! I see how it is!" He said to himself, taking off the earphones and looking back at Hank. "Aight, I'll admit! It ain't half bad! What's it called?"

The only thing Hank could remember was searching up: "Club M music" that one time and finding it. Did the song even have a title?

"Well?!" The DJ asked again.

In a split-second, drunken decision at the heat of the moment, Hank threw out the first complicated word that would come out of his head.

" _Apotheosis_!"

"Apo-what? Eh whatever. I'll play this next in queue! Song I'm playin' right now's just about over, matter o' fact!"

Sure enough, the club's current track came to a halt. The DJ tapped on his mic to get everyone's attention.

"Aight ladies and gents, DJ Knockout here with a special announcement. I don't usually do this sorta thing, but one of our boys here got a pretty tight song request with some to it power that'll knock you out-"

"JUST PUT THE MUSIC BACK ON ALREADY!"

"I was gettin' to that, cocksucker!" Knockout pointed a finger towards the crowd. He cleared his throat. "... Well, see for yourselves."

The first pops of bass sprang out from the large speakers beneath Knockout's booth. Whatever doubts the audience felt almost immediately dissipated once the song had reached full swing at the first minute.

"By the way, what's your name?"

"Haaaaaaaaaank!"

The DJ laughed. "Dude! You're so fucking wasted! The real Hank already kicked someone else's ass here a while back, so watch out!"

"But I _am_ Hank!"

"Sure you are, man!" Knockout pulled his mic back again, a wide grin plastered on his face. "Ayo! This song comes from this crazy motherfucker right here who's calling himself Hank! MAKE SOME NOISE FOR CRAZY HANK!"

Amidst the roaring crowd, Cathy's face perked up.

"Hank?!"

She'd have more luck calling out to him under artillery fire. Something about the club's current vibe combined with the music picking up rhythm caused everyone to start dancing harder. It was near impossible to move forward now; all Cathy could do was watch as her date vaulted over the DJ's booth and onto the dance floor.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Hank had the immediate attention of everyone in a five-yard radius. Chest out with shoulders maintaining an overconfident strut that matched the beat, he walked towards the center. Adrenaline coursed through his intoxicated veins; the line between life and death was determined by how much funk he could deliver in the next two minutes to the curious bystanders.

The second the song hit its peak, any shred of restraint left in Hank's mind was tossed aside like litter. His shoulders gyrated, chest and back jerking in calculated muscle movements with the beat. The more he moved, the more everyone around him cleared enough space for his feet to dominate the dance floor.

A backflip concluded his demonstration. It was sloppy, but he landed well enough on his feet to send the crowd into total hysteria.

"CASEY!" Hank cried out as his solo was at a pause. "CASEY! Get'cho frilly blonde ass ova heeyah!"

Cathy was now doing her best to shrink behind the crowd, hoping that the dark would make her seem like a brunette at the moment. The waiter from earlier turned to her, holding a glass of water.

"I think he's calling for you-"

"Yes. I am aware." Her face a light shade of pink as she ducked behind a few other patrons. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "Your date."

* * *

"Hoo boy!" Deimos bounced up and down his seat. "Hoooooo boy!"

"Deimos, I need you to stay focused on finding Hank the minute we walk in there, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. _After_ I get my footage!"

Without looking at him, Deimos waved Sanford off as he stared at the screen of his video camera. Just as they got out of their car in front of their destination, a red light lit up on the device with a _beep_.

"Yes! It fuckin' works!" Deimos pumped a fist into the air. "Hahaha, this is gonna be so _sick_! Time for some payback after he ripped that bullet out of my shoulder, baby!"

An unsettling silence greeted them when they walked through the door. A few murmurs among the club members stirred them, but none were directed towards the two new guests.

Deimos raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were at a club, not a funeral."

"Let's hope we weren't too late for the latter to be true." Sanford pointed Cathy out after a quick look around. "There's Cathy, but where's Hank?"

The duo walked up to her. Deimos lifted up his camcorder.

"Pardon me, Miss Richards." Deimos said, starting up his recording. "But do you happen to know where our good ol' friend Hank J. Wimbleton wandered off to?"

Cathy turned to him. She gulped, clearing up her dry throat.

"He's, uh…"

The DJ tapped on his mic.

"Aight, boys and girls! Crazy Hank's got one more show for us! A _rap_ show to be exact! YA'LL READY FOR CRAZY HANK?!"

The crowd cheered. Deimos's face lit up.

"Oh… my… _GOD._ "

Knockout passed Hank the mic. "All yours."

Everyone watched as Hank took it from his hands. Sanford went pale.

"Oh my God..."

Hank stood stock-still. Deimos lowered his camcorder.

"Huh? Does he have stage fright or something?"

"You really think someone like him has stage fright? Anyways, we shouldn't just be standing around here!" Sanford motioned towards the booth. "Let's move!"

" _Twinkle, twinkle, little star…"_

His voice froze his three companions in their tracks. A few snickers and light laughs came from the audience.

" _... DJ, pull up with those bars."_

The giggling stopped. Knockout grinned, fiddling with a few switches on his dashboard. The first few notes of instrumental hip hop followed a few record scratches. Hank raised the mic up to his face. He took a deep breath.

Then...

" _Welcome to CM, with the MC of MCs! MC-squared, givin' you that raw fuckin' energy! Blastin' Grunts in bullet-time! Agents into red slime! Engineers and Soldats for their mothafuckin' war crimes!_

" _Dead Sheriff? 'Cause of me! Dead Jebus? 'Cause of me! No apology for that double barrel lobotomy! Took down the Agency like it's basic shit, A to Z! Terrorist with a capital T for that casualty!"_

The club came back to life, bouncing with the rhythm like waves. Deimos cheered on with them.

"Holy shit, he's killin' it up there!"

"Deimos, come on!" Sanford grabbed at his arm, pulling him towards one direction. "I think we can squeeze our way around here!"

"Hold up! You're gonna make me drop the camera-AGH!"

" _Ungrateful pricks! Filled with hicks that can't tell magazines from fuckin' clips! Throwing hissy fits, but you pissy shits don't know what I had to see!_

" _Gray skies, dyed red! Grayshirts, died red! Blood and sweat mixin' with tears like I cry red! But I ain't cryin' now 'cause I got no breather! I'm cryin' cause my roomies won't shut the fuck up either!"_

"Hey, that's us!" Deimos pointed at Hank. "We're in Hank's song, dude! We're gonna go viral!"

"That's exactly what we're trying to _avoid_ , Deimos."

"Relax, they wouldn't recognize him in that getup!"

" _When I yell my name, you do the same! HANK J!"_

"HANK J!" The crowd yelled back.

" _WIMBLETON!"_

"WIMBLETON!"

Sanford turned to Deimos, an unamused look clearly plastered on his face as Hank and the crowd repeated themselves once more. Deimos nervously grinned.

" _Smashin' skulls on walls like tennis balls at Wimbledon! Lead-flavored gin runnin' down chins, makin' heads spin! Wimbleton poised with poison for sinners sinning in SIN!"_

"Hank!" Sanford called out, now just a yard away from him. "Get down from there, Hank!"

"Just grab him already! He's not gonna listen to you, he's a rap god, not a rap dog!" Deimos said, laughing.

"I'm trying not to get spotted, you asshole! Put that camera down and help me!"

"Yeah, yeah. Need a real man to do the job for ya, I get it." Deimos handed the camcorder over to Cathy. "Hold this! And make sure you're still recording!"

"Um…"

The device was already in her hands before she could protest. Having nothing better to do, Cathy raised it back up, taking Deimos's place as camerawoman. Deimos nonchalantly strolled by Sanford.

" _SKRATATA-TOOM! SKIPPIDITY BIP BOP-"_

"Alright, Hank." Deimos began reaching for the mic. "You're running out of lyrics now. Show's over-"

 _BOOM!_

The sound of Hank bashing the top of Deimos's head with the microphone shook the club's speakers. Deimos stumbled back, constellations flooding his vision.

"Virgin mobile... how may I take your order?"

The techie crumpled to the ground. Sanford turned to Cathy.

"You still recording?"

Cathy nodded. "Mmhmm."

"Good. Because I think you just caught my favorite part."

" _Redeemer avengin', sendin' clowns at apotheosis to apoptosis! Wimbleton's depredation, sending antipathetic kings into consternation! Hidin' behind an aggregated inundation of propagation and abrogation!"_

" _Veteran better than anyone spittin' venom at 'em! Supersystem with requiems, flyin' faster than bullets out of magnums! OK, gonna clock out and close this anthem. KO for Knockout, and the rest of the fuckers at Club M."_

The music came to a halt just as the crowd's volume reached its highest.

"For someone whose liver should have shut down, I'm kinda finding it hard to believe he's intoxicated now…" Cathy said.

Hank raised the mic back up to his face.

" _THANK YOU, OKLAHOMAAAAAAAAAA!"_

His adoring audience was too frenzied to care about the mistake. Hank fell, his back hitting the floor with a heavy _thud_.

"Yeah… no. He's blasted." Sanford went prone. "I'll grab him. Do me a favor and wake up Deimos, will you?"

"Uh, sure."

Using the booth as cover, Sanford crawled his way towards Hank. Cathy kneeled down to Deimos, lightly slapping at his face with her free hand.

"Deimos!"

Deimos blinked, his sight still somewhat unfocused. He squinted at Cathy's face.

"... Mama?"

"Get up! Sanford's grabbing Hank so let's go!" She placed the camcorder on his chest. "Here!"

Deimos sat up, observing the device. One glimpse at the recording symbol on its screen pulled him back to the present and made his heart jump for joy. He grabbed for Cathy, pulling her in for a surprise hug.

"Thank you, you absolutely beautiful woman."

"Can't… breathe, ack-"

Sanford meanwhile, was finally separated from Hank by only an arm's length. As Knockout picked up the microphone from the unconscious performer, his eyes met Sanford's. Every instance of Hank insisting he was the real deal came back to the DJ at full force, causing his face to go pale. Sanford placed a finger on his lips.

"Shhh…"

Knockout could only watch as Sanford dragged Hank by his legs off the booth. Realizing he was standing in front of the most fervent audience he ever had, Knockout licked his lips and turned to his front.

" _A-aight! Hope you enjoyed tonight's show folks, let's hear it for Crazy Hank!"_

Whoops and shouts came in for one final wave.

"CRAZY HANK! CRAZY HANK! CRAZY HANK! CRAZY HANK!"

Cleared of any clubber's line of sight, Sanford hoisted Hank over one shoulder. His unconscious roommate's hot and alcohol-putrid breath stung at his cheek as he turned to Deimos and Cathy.

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

* * *

Aside from the occasional hiccup from Hank, the drive back home went largely uninterrupted. Sanford had his eyes on the road, whereas Deimos was busy enjoying his earlier recording. Cathy remained silent, glancing at Hank next to her from time to time. Were it not for the rearview mirror, Sanford would have thought she had passed out too.

The moon had reached its apex as Sanford pulled into the garage. While his two companions exited the vehicle, he grabbed for Hank from the back. The gibberish that came out of his drunken comrade combined with Deimos replaying the Club M footage for the tenth time made something in his head tick.

"Are you going to make yourself useful now, or what?"

"Sorry, just checkin' the quality of this gold right here."

"And that takes _ten_ replays?"

"Uh, yeah. For Deimos's quality check of approval." Deimos closed the camcorder. "That's how you know it's grade-A material. I should probably start a business or something!"

Sanford reached out to grab the camcorder from his hands. "Give me that goddamn camera."

"What? No!" Deimos pulled away from him. "Fuck off! You already helped trash my computer _and_ my phone!"

"Because you're not responsible enough to handle anything!"

"That's a fucking lie and you know it! My computer got trashed because _Hank_ asked me to get intel on that Daniel guy, remember?!"

Sanford's stopped struggling. His facial muscles loosened in awe.

"What?" Deimos asked.

Following his partner's line of sight, the hacker saw Cathy standing behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"He… Hank really asked that?"

Neither Sanford or Deimos could find the words to respond. Hank did it for them instead in the form of one sickening, wet sound.

 _Bleh._

It had reached his ears far too late for him to do anything. His contorted expression increased in shock value; Sanford dropped Hank to the ground like a teenager with his bookbag after a long week of school.

"FFFUUUUUUUCK!"

 _Snap._

A flash of light came right after the noise. Deimos's camcorder being reopened was the first thing Sanford saw when he looked up. The soiled fighter flared his teeth.

"GIVE ME THE CAMERA, DEIMOS!"

"BLOW ME, BITCH!"

As Cathy kneeled by Hank's side, the two men ran around the car in circles yelling at each other. Switching the direction of his run, Sanford finally managed to grab Deimos by the side of his trenchcoat.

"Agh! You're covered in fucking vomit, don't get that shit on me!"

"Oh, I'll get more than _vomit_ on you, you lazy cunt!" Sanford reached for the camcorder while Deimos pushed him away with his free hand. "GIVE IT!"

"NO! Stop or I'll kick you in the dick, San! I swear to God, I'll fucking do it!"

"Guys!" Cathy yelled. "I'm sorry, but can we _please_ take care of what really matters most right now?"

Her shout put the duo at a ceasefire. Sanford backed off, glaring at Deimos while pointing at Hank.

" _You_ are going to put Hank back in his bed and mop up this shit."

"But-!"

"I will put laxatives into every scrap of food in this house if you don't, you hear me?!" Sanford tossed his shirt onto the ground as hard as he could. "And clean this too while you're at it!"

* * *

"Hup!"

Deimos tossed Hank overhead and onto his bed. The springs of the mattress retaliated from the sudden shock, but the drunken fighter remained on top of it, albeit barely.

"Deimos!" Cathy snapped.

"What? He's on it. Besides, this guy can literally sleep on concrete. He'll be fine!"

Seeing as to how his words had no effect on her mood, Deimos sighed.

"Ugh. Alright."

Deimos adjusted one of Hank's legs, which had splayed off the bed. He didn't do the same with his arms.

"See? Like Jebus on the cross. He rapped for our sins." Deimos put the palms of his hands together. "Amen."

"His clothes, Deimos. We can't just leave him in those."

"If he gets a rash, he gets a rash. His fault for getting drunk." Deimos turned to her. "Besides, why am I the one stripping him? Aren't you his _girlfriend_?"

Cathy's face turned beet-red. "Wh… what are you insinuating?"

"Ohh..." Deimos put a hand over the mischievous grin curling at the corners of his lips. "Don't tell me you weren't mentally prepared. It's pretty much an unspoken rule after all."

"Huh?!"

"You know, you have three dates with your partner. The first, you get to know them generally kinda like friends. The second, you get a bit more comfortable with 'em. Holdin' hands, shoulders touchin'. All that cutesy shit they put in those cheesy teenage romance dramas. And after the third…"

Cathy's face remained just as flustered and clueless as earlier. Deimos smacked his palm against his forehead.

"Didja live under a rock or somethin' when you were a kid? That's like one of the oldest rules of dating!" His hand moved down his chin in deep thought. "Actually, now that I think about it, you and Hank were probably made for each other, then..."

"I know what you meant! And no, we didn't do anything, pervert!" Cathy looked away from Deimos. "Our relationship can sustain itself just fine without having to worry about social stigmas, thank you very much."

"Okay, okay, Virgin Mary! Yeesh, you sound like my mother." Deimos went by Hank's side, setting his arms over his head. "Go get a shirt from one of the closets over there while I take this off of him. Consider us even."

"I didn't know you owed me anything."

"That Club M footage is priceless! This is the least I could do."

She obliged, sifting through the jungle of clothes for what seemed to be a good article. Mountains of gray and black shirts greeted Cathy, the lack of color making her slightly depressed. After a solid thirty seconds the blonde surrendered, grabbing a black shirt nearest to her.

"Oh shit! His pants came off!" Deimos yelled.

Cathy quickly turned away. "What?!"

"Yeah, and his underwear too! Looks like they weren't on tight enough, huh?"

"Just put it back on!"

"Holy smokes! That's a whole _ten inches!_ Jebus, he's hung like a horse!"

Her fingers tightened, wrinkling the shirt in her hands even more. "Stop messing around, Deimos!"

"No, seriously! This is nuts, _literally_! Come on, you're his girlfriend, right? What's the big deal?"

A response should have flew out of her mouth as soon as she heard the question, but it didn't. Actually, what _was_ the big deal? It was normal, right? Well, at least according to Deimos, but when would a circumstance like this come again? And if it was coming again… Hank would most certainly be conscious. Maybe she should prepare.

Yeah, prepare. That's all this was. _Preparation_.

Cathy's neck slowly turned to the side. One quick peek, that's it.

Just a few seconds.

Once her head had turned just enough to look behind, she was met with a top-half naked Hank and a very smug Deimos. Blood drained away from her face at full force, nearly making her faint.

"You… you… "

"Knew you'd look." Deimos's grin widened. "Takes a perv to know a perv."

She threw the shirt at Deimos's face, sitting on the opposite end of the bed. Cathy crossed her arms, Deimos's snickering only making eye-contact even more impossible. Deimos meanwhile, reclothed Hank with little effort, patting his chest twice when he was done.

"There. Good as new." Deimos turned back to Cathy. "Guess I can cross 'clothing Hank J. Wimbleton like a doll' off my bucket list, eh?"

The blonde was still turned against him. Though he could only see her back, he could still tell that embarrassment and anger weren't the biggest emotions bogging her down.

"Hey, uh… you alright? I was just messing around. Didn't think that was gonna bother ya so much, sorry."

"It's not that."

"What is it then?"

"It's just…" Cathy shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know how he feels about me or _anything_. But most of all, I don't feel like he's being honest."

Deimos sighed. First, playing dress-up. And now, playing wingman.

"He can't be honest." Deimos placed a cigarette in his mouth. Though he couldn't light it here, he hoped the unlit stick just being in his mouth alone would help. "Being honest to him means he has to come to terms with what he's gone through."

"Okay." Cathy looked up at Deimos, her eyes wielding an alien seriousness. "What did he go through, then? I could only gather hints and that was mostly from him rapping."

"Well, he doesn't talk much about his past. And there's only floating rumors that I've heard about him on his missions and stuff…"

"Like?"

He chewed at the end of his cigarette. It wasn't the same; he really should have had a smoke on their way back, damn it.

"Besides him killing a bunch of people, he _got_ killed. A lot."

Cathy rolled her eyes, slumping her shoulders. "Deimos… I'm really not in the mood for anymore ridiculous-"

"And whales falling out of the stratosphere wasn't ridiculous enough for you?" Deimos's interruption was enough for her to meet him eye-to-eye again. "The whole sky turning red thing was normal too? People bleeding in the same color of their piss? Some dude with a beard and halo calling himself 'Jebus' becoming deputy of the state? You're a reporter, right? How did you manage not notice _any_ of that happen?"

Of course she had noticed; it was the only thing that every newspaper in the country talked about for weeks on end. Half a decade ago, if you worked for a paper with no ideas, all you had to do was look at Nevada for a story. But anything that wasn't obvious to everyone was slander; even the Court ruled so.

Anyone who was supposedly on the frontlines returned with a plethora of stories. Yet the range of fantastical atrocities became ammunition for tabloids. In trusted sources, most of the veterans that came back were believed to have suffered from severe cases of PTSD or were reeling from signs of human experimentation. That's all it was; anything beyond that point was just madness.

"Did _none_ of that shit make you think twice? Or did you seriously believe that AAHW bull about how there was an actual _line_ that they didn't cross? Because as far as I'm concerned, the Geneva Conventions meant just as much to them as the toilet paper they used to wipe their asses."

"None of that was true, Deimos. Well… at least most of it, wasn't. But certainly not coming back from the dead!"

"You're really sayin' that to me? I wasn't blind you know." Deimos pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. "Fine. Maybe with my rep, you probably think I'm just a horny dumbass who's only good for making shitty jokes. I get that. I get that a lot. But go ask Sanford when he gets out of the shower if you don't believe me. Or do you think he's crazy too?"

Her silence was the closest thing to an agreement that he could get. God, he was dying just to use his lighter; a puff could do so much for him right now.

"I can swear on my grave that Hank at least died once, because that was our last mission: asset retrieval and revival. Yeah, I know it sounded fucking stupid. That's what I thought too when I first read my orders, but there actually _was_ a way to bring him back. I was the one who carried his body long enough to see the hole straight through his head. The few minutes Sanford and I split up, I kicked the bucket. And, like Hank, there were a lot of holes in this bucket, too."

Cathy would have walked out the room were it not for how convincing he sounded. Ironically, of all the times he seemed serious to her, _this_ was what was coming out of his mouth.

"You know what it's like to die? Know what it's like to come back? Obviously not, and I'm not going to describe it. Sanford's gonna lynch me if I smoke here and I'm out of cigarettes." Deimos looked back at her. "When you saw Hank without his shirt on, the color left your face you know. You saw them, didn't you?"

The scars that patterned his chest and abdomen illustrated themselves in her mind again. Even if she knew how observant Deimos was before, it wouldn't have changed her reaction.

Those weren't battle scars.

His gaze shifted back to Hank. "Our brass were a bunch of these crazy magical fuckers called 'The Higher Powers.' They brought him back, but honestly after going between dying and living once myself, it's a million-dollar question as to how he's not a sack of potatoes right now. Too bad they couldn't fix the nightmares or the panic attacks though. As good as we get at covering it, you can't hide the squeaks your bed makes when you have to sit up. But we don't talk about that. One of those 'unwritten rules of the house' kind of things."

Deimos smoking in the room would have been less suffocating than this conversation. Cathy had to change the subject.

"... Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah?"

"If, what you're saying is true, right… then what does someone like Hank see in me? Why would he waste his time on trying to find my brother?"

"I don't know. Probably not your looks, 'cause I can't see him being that kind of guy. Being painfully honest, he originally did this just because Sanford made a bet with him to cook all his meals in a maid costume. But I also don't think he's doing it just because of that, either. If anything, he's… different, recently."

Deimos lifted himself off the bed. "The three of us have our masks. It's that, or cocaine and beer that'll keep us sane enough to wake up tomorrow. But if there's ever been a time that I've seen cracks on this guy's mask, it was _after_ he met you. Maybe you might figure out why for us. I'd like an answer for myself, too."

The explanation didn't surprise her, but it didn't satisfy her either. All she could do was look back at Hank's passed-out face.

"Thank you, Deimos."

He looked back down at her. While his expression didn't change, admittedly, a little guilt washed over him. Deimos pointed his chewed up cigarette towards her.

"Alright, look. For tolerating this asshole's shit for so long, I'm gonna give you a bit of a cheat code. Everyone only cares about what veterans did like fighting a war is some sort of plotless action series. But war's as much of an action flick as sex's a porno." He then pointed his cigarette towards Hank. "Next time you ever have a moment with him again, ask him who he _is._ Not what he _did_. He was a person too, you know."

"Of course. Thank you again."

"Cool. Now I just gotta get the damn mop and clean up the garage before I run into-"

"So you didn't do literally one of the only two things I asked you to do, right?"

Deimos didn't need to see Sanford rubbing his hair with a towel at the doorway to realize where he was. The younger of the duo grimaced.

"Sssaaaaaaaannnnffffooooooord…"

"Tell me, Deimos. What's your favorite brand of laxatives?"

"Is there one that'll make you chill and get me laid? Because if there is, I'm ready for one hell of a dump!"

Sanford straightened his towel out into a whip with both hands, shaking his head. "I'm gonna-"

"Wait, I'm sorry. This is my fault," Cathy said, before a fight would break out. "I kept Deimos occupied here. I'll clean up Hank's shirt and he'll finish what he was supposed to do, promise."

Sanford nearly dropped his towel. "Um… uh…"

While he was distracted by Deimos's triumphant face, Cathy hurried off with Hank's shirt towards the bathroom. Sanford shot a death-glare at his partner.

"What did you do to her?"

"Nothing! Stop jumping to assumptions, bro!" Deimos said. "Besides, she kinda reminds me too much of my mom now. Not into that Oedipus Complex type of thing. Oh, what's with that look?"

"I honestly doubted you _read_ something for once in your life that didn't involve video games or computers."

"Oedipus? Of course I read that shit! Dude killed his dad and banged his mom!" Deimos let out a laugh. "Who _wouldn't_ turn their head hearing that plot? Only damn book in English class that I gave two fucks about."

"Didn't doubt that last part."

"Ahh, fuck you. Reading's for pussies anyways, not for getting them. Probably explains why it's your hobby." Deimos stuck his middle finger out. "Now if you excuse me, I got a garage to clean up! When I'm done, you'll be able to see your reflection off the floor from motherfuckin' _space_!"

"If it's anything like you with the dishes, we'll be lucky to have half of the house standing by the end of tonight."

"You're not wrong. But the burnt down half'll definitely include your room, San. I can promise you that!"

* * *

"Good God, Almighty..."

When Chief Harley's inferiors said they needed him at Dead Nevada to confirm something they've never seen before, he would have never expected this. Blood splattered all about the streets and abandoned buildings, still somewhat fresh as droplets traced down gray surfaces. Corpses scattered the disrepaired concrete like litter discarded at the end of a crazed stadium match. The sight of one of the bodies hanging from a nearby streetlamp by its entrails made Harley gag.

It was like… like…

"Like a tornado passed through, except it only hit _people_." One of the officers told Harley as he walked up to his side. "We got a distress call fifteen minutes before we showed up. By then, the fight was over… or whatever it was that happened here."

Harley couldn't turn away from the scene. "Brief me. What do we know?"

"The bodies are gang members. Was a little hard to say from this whole mess, but whatever ones that were intact, we could somewhat tell they were from the same bunch by their clothes. Gang violence, maybe?"

"You think a gang did this?" Harley asked, his sarcasm tangible.

"It's either that, or an artillery strike. Don't need a vet from the Nevadan War to say this place looks like the aftermath of a battlefield."

"Artillery strikes leave craters last I checked, Mason."

"They usually leave witnesses, too. Too bad we haven't found ours yet, else we my guess is as good as yours-"

"Chief!" One of the lower-ranked officers cried out in the distance, kneeling by a body. "Chief, we got a live one here! He's hurt real bad, but I think we can get him to a hospital fast enough!"

Harley felt his jaw tighten.

"Speak of the fuckin' Devil."

* * *

(Original) A/N: Well, we have apparently reached the half-way point of this story. Seems short huh? It could probably be because I update so quickly, but don't worry. There's more where this is coming from, and the suspense will blow your minds.

Also, it's now safe to say that Final Salvation has reached a word count as long as a novel (from most sources). With a word count of about 48 to 49 thousand in 16 chapters! Fuck yeah I'm proud! 3,000 words per chapter is totally kick-ass!

Special thanks to Kagami (my second reviewer). He inspired me to write more in a short amount of time, although I was a bit disappointed that I couldn't respond back to him since he wasn't using an account. So a shout-out to him: I'll be updating practically daily, so you don't need to worry about frequency.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and believe me, this DOES tie into the original plot. I'll be working on Chapter 17 right after I upload this, so you all keep your eyes open. We've reached 3,500 words this time which means I'm forced to end this part here.

Thanks 4 reading.

Spirit9871 is out.

* * *

(New) A/N: The new length is at almost 8,000 words; if I wrote 3,000 words for a chapter now, I'm pretty sure you guys would go into a frenzy. Or would you all rather prefer that lower word count instead? Now that I think about it… I never really asked that before, huh?

Fuck… so this is where I got my second reviewer, and Kagami at that. I'm honestly not sure whether or not he's still around anymore, but I hope he is, especially for Hank's Legacy. In the time that he was sticking with the story, Eli and Hina didn't have much screentime. If you're out there buddy, this rewrite and the Legacy rewrite coming soon is for ya man.

There's A LOT of changes that were made from the original compared to this, so let's get straight to listing 'em out.

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ _ **:**_

1 - Chapter title changed from: "Killer Dancing and a Shocking Revelation" to "MC-Squared." Givin' you that raw fuckin' energy.

2 - Speaking of which, Hank's rap solo. I probably put more time into that part than any other part of the chapter to make it the least cringey as possible, lol.

3 - Cathy-Hank dynamic. I won't say much about this to avoid spoilers, but in the original, Cathy really was the type of character that had no real strong stance on anything. Her actually _feeling_ something with Hank's indifference at least makes her more believable as a character compared to just being "blonde grill."

4 - Laxatives threat. HE WILL PUT THEM IN ALL THE FOODS, YOU HEAR ME?!

5 - Cathy-Deimos talk. It speaks for itself; Deimos isn't a complete moron, you know.

6 - _Ten inches._ :^)

7 - Mason and Harley. Ya boys in blue are baaaaaaaaaack~

8 - Grammatical errors removed.

9 - Narration and dialogue improved.

10 - Diction enhanced.

11 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

And that's that. It's currently June 23rd, 2018. I'm hoping that I can actually start getting these rewrites done in a span of a few days; if I can pump one chapter of this alongside a chapter of Hank's Legacy every week, we are lookin' mighty fine.

On a bit of a side-note, I actually had a nightmare the other night. Basically, I imagined Hank's Legacy as a webcomic, but most of the people reviewing it were thoroughly disappointed with the quality of the comic later on. Wonder if that's an omen of sorts?

But yeah, that's basically it! Gonna get straight to work on 17 alongside any other major projects I have! Stay tuned for more; those of you who are still around, thanks for still being here!

We hope you've enjoyed this rewritten chapter of Final Salvation! See you at 17~

~ Spirit


	17. Beat the Streets (For Something to Eat)

Chapter 17: Beat the Streets (For Something to Eat)

* * *

Yesterday, the sound of birds in the evening gave the scenery at the park a sense of tranquility most people take for granted. Today, it was like nails scraping against the surface of a chalkboard. This particular chalkboard was inside Hank's head and, try as he might, he could not wipe it clear.

Hank pressed his fingers onto his temples. If he could focus his aim right now, he'd shoot the damn things right out of the trees for waking him up so early in the morning. He considered doing it anyway; the sound of gunfire was a thousand times more pleasurable than this screeching din.

"Hurk…"

Just sitting up was a hassle. His skull felt like it had been screwed onto the wrong body after being thrown into a washing machine and bashed against the wall. The events of the previous evening came back in disjointed, jarring flashes. Of the brief glimpses his mind granted him, all he could remember was a lot of lights, a lot of music, a lot of people losing their minds, and the burning sensation of "Devil's Toe" in his stomach.

Club M in a nutshell.

The daylight pouring from the lone window in the room illuminated the Beretta sitting on his bedside table, as if the Sun himself were trying to egg him on. Hank paused as he reached for the gun. The sunlight was far fiercer than he expected for a late summer morning.

Wait... what time was it really?

His mental clock had been thrown completely off-sync the last couple of weeks. Typically, it was a trivial matter to keep the running count in the back of his mind. He could even do it in his sleep. The fact that he was unable to do so recently was as annoying as it was worrisome. Then again, he wasn't sure what he expected with him waking up like this two days in a row.

He shifted on his bed and looked at the digital clock he always kept by his nightstand.

… _15:04._

As if disappointed by the clock's answer, Hank dropped it to the ground.

"Again. Fucking shit."

A lack of response from any other human being reminded him of how alone he was. While the concept might have been depressing under normal circumstances, relief washed over him as the back of his head nestled into the comfort of his pillow. It quickly faded as the birds and sunlight continued to torment him, alongside a random thought:

 _Like an old man on his deathbed, waiting._

That was enough to get Hank out of bed. Though he felt vertigo as he stood, the nauseating feeling that emerged in his stomach hadn't been exacerbated by standing. Hank's searing headache pushed for him to recall the aspirin bottle he bought for Sanford and Deimos. He had left it in the kitchen cabinet. That was where he had to go next.

After exiting his room and with some effort, he managed to make it to his destination without incident. The smell of food reached him sooner than the sight of his two roommates and…

"Catherine?"

Standing behind the stove. Deimos was instead the one to greet Hank back to consciousness.

"Rise and shine, MC Wimbleton. Sleep well?"

"What's _she_ doing here?" Hank asked.

"Oh, her? See, basically there was a giant storm that came outta nowhere a little after we got back, so we offered her to stay the night." Deimos pointed towards Sanford sitting across from him. "But uh, if you're not happy with that, it was Sanford's idea, so blame him."

"Figured. You don't come off as the hospitable type, Deimos." Hank turned to Sanford. "Did this idea of yours also include making her do the meals instead of you?"

"No. It was hers." The look on Sanford's face as he watched Cathy apply her cooking skills grew grimmer with each passing second. "Deimos said Cathy's like his mom, but I'm starting to think she's literally him herself. She certainly had his persistence when she kept insisting to make lunch… and his cooking skills too by the looks of it."

They all looked back at the woman, who still seemed deaf to their words. Cathy raised her head up in thought with narrowed eyes.

"Salt…" she murmured.

Cathy opened one of the nearby cabinets, appropriated a small salt shaker, and shook perhaps a few too many granules into her saucepan. More color left Sanford's face as a tiny wince twisted his lips.

"I certainly respect her… zeal," Hank said.

He continued his journey towards the small medicine cabinet by the spices. Popping two of the tablets into his mouth like candies, Hank washed them down with some tap water he cusped into his hands. Relief kicked in almost instantly.

"I know this was the most expensive brand I could find at the pharmacy, but they're a little too effective," the hungover veteran commented.

"Right?!" Deimos agreed.

Hank rotated the bottle to its front label. "NevAspirin. Aren't these the same NevCorp fuckers that made NevAlcohol?"

"Only a matter of time until they unveil their entrance into the liver transplant market, I'd imagine," Sanford quipped. "NevLiver. Doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?"

It wasn't until Cathy brushed shoulders with Hank that she acknowledged his presence. "Oh! Good morning, Hank. Or, should I say good _afternoon_. I hope you don't mind if I stay over for the day. There was a-"

"Already heard it from Deimos, don't worry."

"Ah, okay. Perfect timing, though!" She lifted the pan off the stove just after turning it off. "Lunch is ready! Dig in!"

Cathy flopped the yellow mound into a large plate, placing it at the center of the table. The men stared down at the blob while their cook set up three plates and forks for each of them.

"Reminds me a lot of HQ's food. On a bad day," Hank said.

Deimos turned to him. "Hey, don't judge a book by its cover. Probably be a good idea to test out your future wife's cooking early, eh?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, now." Hank gestured towards the meal. "Why don't you set a loving example for me?"

"I will, cuck."

With everyone's attention on him, Deimos forked a piece. But as soon as the silverware touched his mouth, he froze, maintaining a thousand-yard stare. With a mix of dread, confusion, and curiosity, Sanford and Hank split their portions into their respective plates with their forks. Sanford tried, what seemed to be, the omelet out second. His face scrunched up the moment the two forkfuls of eggs touched his palate and accidentally slid down his throat.

"Oh, GOD!" Sanford pushed the plate away. "Jebus!"

He ran towards the sink, pulling the handle up as far as it could go. Cold water came rushing out at full blast as he angled his head for the violent stream to pour into his mouth. Cathy frowned.

"It's not _that_ bad! Look!" She pointed towards Hank, "Hank's not having any issues with it!"

Sanford pulled away for the faucet, gasping. He turned to Hank who was, sure enough, casually eating away at pieces of his portion.

"That's because he can't taste anything!"

Hank finished his plate; though the sensation was alien to him now thanks to his training, he knew this was probably the closest he ever felt to being dehydrated since the war ended. He turned to Sanford.

"I take it that there's a little too much salt in this?"

"A _LITTLE_?!"

"I think I died," Deimos finally added.

Cathy's face lit back up. "And went to heaven?"

"No, no, not _that_ bad." Deimos pulled the fork out of his mouth. "Out of ten, I'm gonna have to rate this a five… for how many seconds my brain shut down."

"Come on. Now you guys are just being melodramatic. It's not _that_ bad. Is it?"

Deimos ruefully rubbed at his jaw. "Trust me. Heaven's kind of a shitty place."

Grabbing Hank's fork, she took a piece from Deimos's barely-touched serving and into her mouth. A few seconds later, she ran to the sink, spitting out whatever she could from her mouth while the trio watched. Cathy turned around, her face pale. She raised a shaky thumbs-up.

"See… edible!"

Hank frowned.

"I suggest that you drink some water."

Cathy sighed, rubbing at her mouth. "I get it, I'm not the best at cooking. This was probably about the fourth time I've ever made anything, actually."

"Then why were you so determined on making lunch?"

Hank's question left an awkward silence hanging in the kitchen. Deimos shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Sanford sighed.

' _I guess it always falls to me to clean the mess...'_

"... Look, if I were to ignore the salt, then it wasn't actually that bad, I'll admit. As it is, I couldn't eat a few more bites of that, let alone the whole plate. Would've doubled my risk of getting a heart attack, I'm certain." Sanford looked at Hank. "You should probably be concerned for that exact same reason."

Hank shrugged. "If that were the case, then I'd ask for seconds."

"Anyways," Sanford said, pretending he didn't hear Hank's answer. "You're at least better than Deimos ever will be. If you want, I can teach you a thing or two about cooking during our spare time."

Cathy's downcast look faded as she smiled. "You'd really do that for me? Thank you!"

Sanford nodded. Deimos placed his chin against the table.

"You know, I'm glad you're all sharing a warm moment here, but those don't exactly give a man his calories. Ugh." Deimos's stomach rumbled in agreement. "Let's go get something to eat outside. Preferably fast food so I don't starve within the next hour."

"You've gone soft from your training, Deimos."

"And you've gotten old with your jokes, Hank."

"I wish it were a joke."

Sanford got up first. "Then it's settled. Let's hurry up and go before the lunch rush starts."

"I'll clean up while you guys are gone," Cathy offered.

Sanford grinned a thankful grin. "Appreciate it. We'll get you something too on our way back. See you in a bit."

"Yooo! Let's put on our combat outfits!" Deimos sprang up from his chair. "Trust me, we'll get our lunch a lot faster that way!"

The trio exited the kitchen as they continued the conversation. Cathy turned back to Deimos's omelet, taking another forkful into her mouth. Second time's a charm, right?

She dashed towards the sink once more. Insanity was also doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results...

"Bleh!"

* * *

"You're as dense as a block of iron, Hank," Deimos said, breaking the silence that had remained between them for the past few minutes. He pulled out another cigarette. "Scratch that. That burn's a bit too harsh… for the block of iron, that is."

"Care to enlighten me as to why?" Hank asked from the back.

"Gee, I don't know. Does, 'then why were you so determined on making lunch,' ring any bells to ya?" Deimos waved his cigarette between two fingers while mockingly imitating Hank's monotone voice.

"Is it supposed to? She had no prior experience in cooking and yet she wanted to make us a meal? Sanford should have been the one to do it."

"Deimos is saying that she did it because she wanted to show that she _cared_ enough about you to try and leave a good impression on everyone." Sanford said as he drove.

"This sounds a lot like the load of crap you fed me when we first ran into her."

"She used _your fork_ to eat off of my plate," Deimos added.

"So?"

"So?" Deimos turned around, almost bewildered enough to drop his cigarette. "Does that not mean _anything_ to you at all?!"

"It doesn't. At Facility 21, the other Delta candidates and I shared a flask. Minutes later, we would be grinding each others' faces into the concrete. Camaraderie, maybe. Definitely not romance."

Deimos stared at Hank while Sanford remained silent. The techie finally turned to his partner.

"Back me up here before a blood vessel pops."

"That's not just a 'camaraderie' thing, Hank. Between two people in a relationship, you consider that as an indirect kiss." Sanford maintained his gaze down the road as the city came closer to view. "Besides, do you really have any better explanation other than the one we just gave you?"

"If you're hoping mine includes anything about being in a relationship, you're sorely mistaken."

"You still seriously don't trust Cathy after four dates?"

"It's exactly because of that that I don't trust her, Sanford. Why is she trying so hard? Last time I checked, my track record doesn't really scream husband material. Even the cops don't want us in their jails."

"There are certain things in life that don't necessarily have to have a reason to be the way they are, Hank," Sanford said.

"Maybe it's because she _likes_ you?" The frustration in Deimos's words reached their highest. "Is it really as complicated as rocket science to get?"

"Maybe," Hank conceded. "But it won't do her any good."

Deimos balled his hands into fists, nails digging into his palm. His mind quickly filled with a thousand responses, most of them furious, some of them incredulous. The thoughts flooded his brain, shooting through his spine, and bubbled out of his vocal chords.

Deimos had never thought that he could buffer overflow his own brain.

"God, will you just stop it with the edgy bullshit? How the hell did you even manage to get on _two_ dates with this chick?! She deserves way better than you."

Hank grimaced.

"One. Looking at it objectively, for anyone seeking a relationship, we're the bottom of the barrel. She'll only get hurt if she sticks around us, and the sooner she realizes that, the better. That's what I mean when I say that it won't do her any good. Two. Yell asinine bullshit like that again, and you can take a nap in the trunk for the rest of this trip."

The car went quiet again. Sanford took a quick glance at Deimos; what the youngest of the trio was thinking remained uncertain, as he was looking away from the both of them.

"Last night, while you slept, Cathy and I had a little chat. Your chick, she actually knows you pretty well. She's having doubts, not because she knows you aren't good enough for her, but because she thinks she isn't good enough for you. Now I know you're gonna say something along the lines of, 'That's her problem, not mine,' or 'She's weak-minded.' But before you come up with another one of your oh-so witty retorts, there's something that I've been dying to ask for a while."

Deimos pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, seemingly for both a smoky exhale and a sigh.

"If Catherine Richards is about to get killed, what would you do?"

There was no immediate "witty retort" that came out of Hank's mouth this time. It didn't stop him from formulating a response, however.

"Taking a bullet for someone isn't the same thing as being in a relationship with them."

"And how long did it take for you to come up with that shit answer?"

"As long as it took to process your shit question. Deimos, if you're so adamant about Catherine's feelings, why don't you just date her instead? It'd save us all some trouble."

"The way things are going, it might actually happen. That, or, Jebus forbid, Sanford's gonna bag her. She's starting to open up to me, and he's about to start giving us cooking lessons. You want us to take turns or something?"

"She'd probably have a restraining order on you before the week is over. Sanford… I could see it happening."

If this was any other circumstance, Sanford would have had a smug grin on his face. "I appreciate the compliment, but I didn't torture myself making your meals in a maid costume just for you to treat a human like a hand-me-down."

"You know what? Fuck it." Deimos flicked his cigarette out the side window in disgust. As it flew across, Hank reached his arm out of his window and caught the still-smoldering cigarette.

"This obviously isn't working, not with you still being dishonest. I'm just gonna say one last thing. One piece of advice if there's at least one piece of you that actually gives a shit about that woman. If _you_ have a moment with her, maybe listen to her for once. Like you did at the park. That little bit of respect might actually do wonders and it's the least you could do."

Hank ground the glowing cigarette butt into one of the car's drink holders.

"Don't litter."

"Okay. Now that we got that out of the way," Sanford finally jumped in. "We're at the city. Deimos, you were the one who dragged us all the way over here. Where are we eating?"

Deimos grinned.

"Oh, I know just the place."

* * *

"Welcome to Gil's Burgers, home of Nevada's finest burger." A freckle-faced teen said behind the counter with as much life as a corpse. He looked up from his register, the dorky nametag on his chest named "Eugene" becoming clearer. "How may I take your ord-"

The last bit of his sentence was replaced with a noise similar to a balloon deflating. Deimos nonchalantly pointed at the digital menu hanging over the other stunned workers.

"Alright. I'll have two number nines, a number nine large, a number six with extra dip, a number seven, two number forty-fives, one with cheese, and a large soda-"

Sanford smacked Deimos upside the head. Deimos glared back at him.

"What was that for?!"

"Either order seriously or we're getting Chinese takeout, you understand?"

"Nothing wrong with Chinese takeout," Hank muttered, trading looks with the other customers and their kids.

"Ugh, yes mother." Deimos turned back to the, still terrified, cashier. "Four Gil Burgers with onions and cheese."

Sanford crossed his arms.

"Hold on, Deimos. I've changed my mind. I think I'd like a chicken sandwich this time."

"'Hello! I'm Sanford, and I like eating cock because real beef and cheese makes my stomach too queasy!'" Deimos paraded around, waving his hands in the air as he spoke in a high-pitched voice. He lowered his hands, his gaze towards Sanford turning dead-serious. "We're _at_ Gil's Burgers. We _get_ Gil Burgers."

"Okay, fine. But you're paying for all of it. Every last cent."

"Oh, believe me. I have that _very well_ covered." Deimos waved Sanford off. "Forget what he said. Four Gil Burgers. Three of those meals to stay and one to go."

"Y-you still want onions on that?"

"Yeah, I already said that I do. Plus we need curly fries with each. And... I'll take four large root beers- nah, make that two, we'll split it."

"Uh… yes sir!" The teen shakily punched in numbers on his register. "So um, your total will be-!"

Deimos raised a hand. "Haha, no need to tell me. Because I have _this_!"

He smacked his hand against the counter, causing everyone to jump. Pulling it back revealed a small orange coupon. Sanford peered at it over Deimos's shoulder.

"Have a full Gil Burger set for free. Maximum four people?" Sanford read aloud.

The cashier was just as flummoxed as Sanford was. Squinting his eyes, he picked up the coupon for a few seconds before lowering it.

"Uh... Sir, one moment please. Let me just confirm this with my manager real quick."

Deimos's smug look remained constant. "Take all the time you need."

The cashier walked off, leaving the three men in front of a very irritated line of other customers. It seemed whatever anxieties people had about them were starting to be overridden by starvation. Sanford leaned in towards Deimos for a whisper.

"Deimos, you better not be pulling some shit here!"

"I'm not, really! That coupon's legit! Won it at a challenge!"

"What?"

"Remember that one day I told you I was fasting?"

The memory of a sickly Deimos pushing away a plate of food resurfaced in Sanford's mind.

"You didn't eat any of the food I made you that day just so you could win a shitty coupon?!"

"Hell yeah! And I'd do it again in a heartbeat!" Deimos pointed to his front, bobbing excitedly. "Oh, oh, there he is! The man of the hour!"

Sanford looked back towards the register to see the chubby, unmistakable face of an idol. Hank frowned at the sight of the man's figure; he didn't find the bowtie and suspenders the obese character wore any bit adorable as most others did.

"The burger-slinging hog himself…"

"GIL!" Deimos shouted over Hank, stretching out his arms as if for an embrace.

Gil outstretched his arms in the same manner. "DEIMOS!"

They clasped hands, grinning madly at each other. Sanford frantically looked between the two of them.

"Wait, wait, wait! Hold up!" Sanford raised his hands up in confusion. "You two _know_ each other?!"

"Of course!" Gil boomed. "How I can forget the first and only man to defeat: 'The GIL-lotine Challenge'?!"

"The what?"

"That's the challenge I was telling you about!" Deimos beamed. "Eat twenty Gil Burgers! Half as many as Gil can when his stomach's half-full!"

Gil pointed towards a nearby wall across from them. "Still have the plaque up for the champion!"

Everyone turned towards the picture frame. At the center of the photo was Deimos, mauling a burger in each hand like a rabid zombie while Gil stood by his side, facing the camera with a toothy smile. In the background stood a lone employee, staring at the contender at a distance with abject horror etched on his face. Beneath it all was the gold-plated: " **DEIMOS** " followed by " **23 BURGERS** " in smaller text.

While Sanford stared slack-jawed at the snapshot, Deimos nudged at his arm with an elbow. "Even got Gil's autograph at the bottom of the pic, too."

"So!" Gil pumped his arm to the side. "How can I help the legend?!"

"Well, that's just it, Gil," Deimos said. "It seems as though your employee doesn't recognize my legendary status here as you do."

Eugene gulped. Gil however, let out a hearty laugh.

"My dearest apologies! The lad here is a new recruit! He means no harm, promise! Isn't that right, Eugene?" Gil scruffled the teen's hair playfully. "Go get our boys here their meal! It's on me, tip included!"

Eugene readjusted his worker's cap, saluting. "Yes, boss!"

After his inferior ran off, Gil turned back to the trio. His eyes refocused themselves back on Hank just as they glazed over him.

"Hoho! If it isn't the man himself!" Gil extended an arm to Hank for a shake. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Wimbleton!"

Instead of returning the gesture, Hank silently glared towards Deimos. The techie only gave him a thumbs-up back.

"There is much I wish to speak to you about!" Gil pulled his arm back, rubbing at his hands. "Including perhaps… a toy line deal?"

"I'm not interested," Hank said, still maintaining his scowl towards his roommate.

"Oh, don't ruin so much potential with your reservations!" Gil shuffled his hand into one of his pockets, pulling out a wrinkled-up, slightly torn and grease-stained piece of paper. On the parchment were diagrams of, what seemed to be, toy designs of the infamous trio. "See? I've got the designs all planned out too! Your toy's holding a little sword and if you _press the shift key_ on its back, it'll swing out _stronger attacks_! The kids'll love it!"

"You're not selling me out, Gil."

Sanford and Deimos watched as the two continued to go back and forth about the partnership deal like a tennis match. Sanford shook his head.

"Yeah, something tells me Hank's not coming back here anytime soon."

"Pfft, I wouldn't be surprised." Deimos rolled his eyes. "Gil only thinks about two big 'B-U's'. Business and burgers. That's how he made Gil's Burgers as huge as a MAG. Too bad Hank doesn't know what a _real_ genius is like when it comes to marketing."

"For the sake of his health, it might be better that way. Only you could come up with the brilliant idea of eating here after the stroke omelet Cathy made."

"The sugars in the soda should help cancel out your salt, don't worry."

"Right. I can't believe I forgot that fact." Sanford looked back at Hank, who seemed to now be fully absorbed in battling Gil on his own turf. "Back when we were in the car, I was tempted to jump in, but you handled things well enough. Nice job. Here's to hoping it made a difference."

"He hesitated on his answer, San." Deimos's lax expression steeled up. "I think the difference was already there, even before I told him anything."

"HEY!" One of the customers on the line behind them shouted, interrupting both conversations. "Some of us are starving here!"

"Very sorry, my good man! Mr. Wimbleton, I know it must be a nerve-wracking decision to establish a partnership with such a prestigious eatery like ours, but if you ever make your mind..." Gil went through his pockets again, this time pulling out a small business card. He placed it on the counter, winking.

"I'll always have a phone line open for you. Eugene, get these lads their order! I'll handle register while the heat's lookin' bad!"

Wordlessly, Hank slid the card towards himself while Sanford and Deimos picked up their food. The three walked towards an empty table, ignoring the anxious glances now mixed with glares from the others. By the time they reached it, Deimos had shovelled a handful of fries into his mouth.

"I take it you're not planning on accepting that 'nerve-wracking partnership' anytime soon?" Sanford asked Hank as they all sat down.

"If I'd known Deimos was dragging us here, I wouldn't have come in the first place. Alongside the hate mail, I've been getting at least one letter every other week from that pig begging me to sign contracts." Hank looked at Deimos, who was already moving on to his burger. "I'm starting to realize why."

"Bu-hi's hat?" Deimos said with a mouthful of food.

"Eat or talk. Pick one, you animal." Hank crossed his arms.

Deimos swallowed. "I said, 'Why's that?'"

"You gave that oversized marshmallow our address, didn't you?"

"Obviously. How else was he supposed to send me the coupon?"

Sanford threw his hands in the air while Hank remained unmoved. Deimos glanced between them.

"What?"

"So he knows where we live. Wonderful." Hank pulled down his mask for his meal. "For the record, if he takes even one step on our lawn, I'm going to blast a hole straight through that pudgy head of his."

"Hey!" Deimos pointed at Hank with his half-eaten burger. "You should be grateful that Gil graced us with his legendary burgers!"

" _He_ should be grateful that we ended the war before he got turned into zed chow. The fat on his left thigh alone would be a buffet for the undead." He munched on a few tasteless fries. "Lord knows what he'd be like as one, though."

Sanford raised an eyebrow. "Zombies? Thought they were just a rumor floating around."

"Most, not all. If you went deep enough in the Restricted Zone, you'd run into them from time to time." Hank shrugged. "Probably the aftermath of a research lab gone wrong. They weren't that hard to get rid of, but the AAHW didn't care enough to focus on cleanup efforts."

Sanford just kept sipping at his root beer. A _snap_ from his side followed by a small _ding_ caught his attention. He turned to his right, noticing Deimos was tapping at his phone with both thumbs at light-speed.

"Burgers and fries for three badass guys," Deimos mumbled to himself, smirking. "Hashtag, real-men-eat-real-beef."

"You made me change my order just so you could use that coupon, didn't you?"

"So what if I did? I was holding onto that coupon for a while now!" With one more tap, Deimos submitted his digital post for the whole world to see. "Consider yourselves lucky I bothered saving it for you guys."

Sanford leaned his head against his hand. "As opposed to all the other friends you could have used it on, right?"

"Wha-I have friends! See!"

Deimos shoved his phone towards Sanford's face. Sanford squinted his eyes towards the text, nodding slowly.

"Congrats on reaching thirteen followers. Triple that and you might just be able to fill up a middle school classroom in post-war Nevada. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they actually were middle schoolers trying too hard to be cool."

"Uh, no they're not!"

"And how would you know that?"

In the heat of the moment, Deimos shot up from his seat. "Because half of them are my alts!"

The table went silent as Deimos's face turned red. Hank took a loud sip of his drink, whereas Sanford remained unsurprised.

"Wow, Deimos. That's uh…"

Deimos slowly sat down. "Don't, San."

" _I'm Deimos, and I'm a virgin who does nothing but jerk off in his room and play videogames. I'm Deimos, and I'm..."_

The recording went off from one of Hank's pockets. He picked up his cellphone, fiddling with it momentarily.

" _...a virgin who does nothing but jerk off in his-"_

To Deimos' relief, Hank tapped a button, silencing the recording.

"Who is it?"

"Shh." Hank hushed him. He focused back on the call. "Wimbleton speaking."

The collection of "Uh-huh"'s and "Okay"'s only fueled his companions' curiosity. A final "We'll be there in an hour and a half" concluded the call.

"Harley," Hank said, lowering his phone under the table. "He wants us at the hospital for, and I quote, 'last night's freak show.'"

"Sounds lovely. We'll drop off Cathy's food, and can be there in an hour and a half." Sanford took another bite of his burger. "Did he tell ya anything else?"

"Other than the fact that he was frustrated _you_ weren't picking up his calls, no."

Sanford cringed, remembering where he had left his phone in the house. "Right… forgot about that."

Hank looked at Deimos, who had his lower lip jutted out. "What are you pouting about now, Deimos?"

"Goddamnit, not even the _Chief_ calls me when Sanford doesn't pick up! The fuck, man!"

"He probably doesn't have your new number, Deimos," Sanford reasoned.

"Oh yeah! I forgot I had to switch phones recently!" Deimos glared at Sanford. "Why is that?"

"I already paid for your new phone, what else do you want me to give you?"

Deimos pointed at Sanford's tray. "The rest of your fries."

"You're joking. Where the hell did your food go?"

"I ate it all. Because I'm a growing young man who needs his calories compared to the both of you geezers. Now gimme."

"Fine." Sanford sighed just before smirking. "... But only half of what's left."

"What?!" Deimos shot off his seat again. "You fatass!"

"You're calling _me_ the fatass?!" Sanford pointed at himself, then pointed to Deimos. "Screw it, this is all mine. You can get one of your millions of adoring followers to buy you a meal!"

"You-!"

" _Ooh… you touch my tralala… Mm, my ding, ding, dong…"_

This time, the digital tune was coming from the techie's pants. He beamed.

"Wouldja look at that! Looks like I'm finally getting my well-deserved attention!"

"Of course that's your ringtone."

"It's a sexy song for an even sexier man. But you wouldn't know charisma if it slapped you in the face with it's dick San, which is why I'm getting fanmail and you aren't." With newfound confidence, he answered the call. "This is the Deimos speaking in all his glory. How can I help you, you beautiful bastard?"

"Here's your fucking call. Now shut up so we can eat our food in peace."

Looking towards Hank holding up his own phone only confirmed the awfully familiar voice he heard on the other end. Sanford fell into a fit of laughter while Deimos felt blood rush to his cheeks again. He sat back down, trying to also ignore a few giggles and chuckles from eavesdroppers sitting at the surrounding tables. At least the restaurant's atmosphere felt a bit lighter compared to earlier.

Didn't make it any less embarrassing.

"Hate you both." Deimos grumbled, grabbing a handful of Sanford's fries while he was distracted. "Hate you both a lot."

"Feeling's mutual." Hank raised his drink up. "Cheers."

* * *

(Original) A/N: You know the drill. 3,600 words. Gotta end it here or else this chapter would be way too long to read.

Just listening to the radio right now to "I Gotta a Feeling" on 95.5. Took me 2 hours to type this since I was a bit stuck in the middle. But no worries. The show goes on. But I have a bigger problem. In fact, every author here has it too.

School restarts two days from now, and I gotta type as many chapters I can before September 6th. Since I'm just starting high school, I don't know how this will affect my schedule for writing. Nevertheless, it takes me an hour or so on average to type a chapter, so I should be able to update, at least, weekly. I WILL finish this story, this I swear on my life. I want this to be the first MC fanfiction out there that's complete and isn't a one-shot.

I want to thank Kagami again for his (or her, I can't honestly tell since the name Kagami in Japanese merely means "mirror") review. I really appreciate it, and I hope you will enjoy this story as it continues to progress. Other reviews would be appreciated from more people too since I want to know whether or not people are starting to notice Final Salvation as much as the view count says. Guest comments are always automatically accepted, so don't worry about that either.

Well, enough talk. But look at the bright side! Maybe school can help me write in English class! I've seen CountSheep's fanfics (although I would have to say her content is EXTREMELY vivid and a bit uncomfortable to read since I'm a guy myself *shudder*) and her (yes, SHE'S A FEMALE) writing is pretty intense. I won't be retiring until I turn 16, or I get killed before then, which means you guys get two years' worth of reading entertainment from me since I'm 14 and my birthday is on May 1st. So as long as I'm writing, I'll be reading reviews and PM's.

Thanks you guys for your time and I hope you enjoyed this installment! Chapter 18 will be out very soon!

~Spirit9871

* * *

(New) A/N: Once again, reading this old Author's Note doesn't seem real. None of this feels like it's coming from the same person anymore, and that's referring to a lot more than just the word count thing.

Granted, I was never really a big fan of the Sanford x Deimos slashfics CountSheep came up with, there is the undeniable fact that she needs to be recognized for being one of the first fanfic writers for Madness Combat. I am actually uncertain if any of my stories would exist right now if it wasn't for her works. All that spiel of me freaking out over her stuff was probably just teenage angst I would imagine, haha.

16 years old… I don't even remember setting that up as my retirement date. I'm 20 now; it just goes to show though at the time this chapter was originally being written in, I had no plans for the series I have in mind now. Those of you veteran readers still reading this, you are to thank for that fact and needless to say, it's changed my life for a lot better. That's something I don't think I'd be able to forget no matter how many years come.

(Though I do admit, here's to hoping I can get the series done before I turn 24, haha…)

Okay, let's step back from memory lane and hit up that Changelog:

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ _ **:**_

1 - Chapter title changed from: "You've Got Threat Mail!" to "Beat the Streets (For Something to Eat)." It's a PN2 reference for those of you who don't have the game, where you have to fight Zed Gil in a level literally called: "Beat the Streets" with Sanford and Deimos.

 **Side-note, PN2 is coming out likely before the end of this year according to the devs, so stay tuned to that!**

2 - Speaking of which, the "threat mail" part has pretty much been removed entirely. It just doesn't make any logical sense and I don't know what I was thinking having that in there originally. Hell, I didn't even use the right "Your" in the letter. It's amazing to think anyone would take that shit seriously, haha.

3 - Deimos chapter. Due to the lack of content in the original version, we decided to use this chapter to capitalize on Deimos in being more than just the story's comic relief. You definitely should have noticed that by the end of the last chapter as well; really happy to expand on him as a character with that car ride.

4 - Gil's Burgers instead of the generic "BurgerTown". That burger slingin' hog. And oh man, the references (even outside of PN2)! We had a blast throwing those in there, so see if you can spot 'em.

5 - References to Hank's Legacy such as Facility 21/Delta and the Restricted Zone. For you hardcore fans (we love ya). ;)

6 - Grammatical errors removed.

7 - Narration and dialogue improved.

8 - Diction enhanced.

9 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

Changelog eliminated.

Alrighty! That's all I have to say for now; hopefully you guys have been really enjoying the faster updates as of recently! Been gettin' the groove of things and my oh my, is the groove mighty fine.

Thank you all for reading, especially those of you who take the time out of your day to leave warm reviews. You guys are all, as always in the past, the best. It's about 5 AM in the morning over here, so I'm just gonna wrap up this chapter before I start repeating myself, heh…

We hope you enjoyed this rewritten chapter of Final Salvation! Here's to summer, lads! :D

~ Spirit


	18. Under Safe Threshold

Chapter 18: Under Safe Threshold

* * *

"Dad?"

Chief Harley grunted, jolting in his seat. He turned to the familiar voice, spotting a woman clad in light blue scrubs. She stood just a foot away from him, beverage in hand.

"Melissa?" Harley asked. "What're you doing here?"

"I work here, remember? I should be the one asking you that." She smiled, passing him the steaming drink. "Here. You'll probably need this coffee more than I do."

"Baby, no. I'll be fine-"

"Just take it. My shift just finished anyways."

After staring at her for a few more seconds, he half-heartedly accepted the offer. "Appreciate it, dear."

"Anything for Nevada's guardian," Melissa said. "I just hope people are grateful for how much work you've put into fixing things."

"If they showed half as much appreciation as you did, my job wouldn't be half as bad. I hope that damn 'Sheriff' is rotting in the deepest, coldest corner of Hell." Harley clenched his fist that wasn't holding the coffee. "The schools are overcrowded, homeless people and gangs are taking up swathes of the city, and the station's far too understaffed. It's a miracle the state's even standing at this point. Beorg really left us with nothing."

"Don't stress yourself out, I know you're doing the best you can with what you have. Remember your blood pressure?"

He loosened the hand he tightened up, sighing just before taking a sip. "You're right, Melissa. Thank you. Sorry if I made you worry."

"I'll always be more confident than worried when it comes to you, dad. Stay safe, okay?"

Harley chuckled. "Now you're stealing my lines. You too, darling."

Melissa planted a kiss on his cheek just before heading towards the exit. The well-needed moment of bliss Harley felt quickly subsided as soon as he heard footsteps walking from the opposite direction. They were a grim reminder of what he had to address.

"So, what're we here for?" Hank asked.

Straight to business, as usual. Harley stood up, taking a heavy swig from his cup just before facing the trio.

"Before I answer you, there's something I need you to tell me first," Harley said. "Where were you three last night?"

"At a club," Hank answered for the others.

"Hm. Never took you as the clubbing type."

"Special circumstances. Why are you asking?'

Harley swirled his cup, watching the brown dregs swirl around in small circles. "You still remember that last gang you three targeted?"

"Those Order goons?" Sanford asked.

You mean the one with the leader who has a wig?" Deimos grinned to himself after stating the unnecessary detail.

"Yes, them. The 'Order of the Gray Blood' fellows. Have you made contact with them at all ever since that night?"

"No." Hank crossed his arms. "What about them?"

"They're dead. Every single one of them."

"Dead as in… their group fell apart because we kidnapped their leader?" Sanford asked.

"As in, their neighborhood looked like it was decorated by a serial killer. And the gang members were the decorations." Harvey picked up the envelope he placed on the chair beside him and passed it over to Hank. "I made copies of the evidence. See for yourselves."

While Hank pulled out the photos, his roommates crowded around him. Deimos paled once Hank reached the photo of a body hanging by its entrails off a streetlight.

"Fuck… looks like an AAHW base after Hank's been through it!"

"My thoughts exactly," Harley said.

Hank raised his head, dropping the pictures back into their package before handing it back to Harley. "So you're accusing me of this mess, is that it?"

"Wait, let's not just jump to assumptions here-"

"Hank's not wrong, Sanford." Harley maintained eye-contact with Hank. "I'm not saying you did it, but I have reason to see you three as suspects."

"And what would that reason be?"

"Do I really need to spell that one out for you, Hank?"

Though neither of them had moved an inch, it felt like they were a step closer to ripping at each other's throats. The hallway felt a lot narrower than it was a minute ago.

"Hey, hang on, I can actually prove we weren't there!" Deimos rummaged in his backpack for his camcorder. "Video footage! Cops love this shit, right?"

* * *

" _Veteran better than anyone spittin' venom at 'em! Supersystem with requiems, flyin' faster than bullets out of magnums! OK, gonna clock out and close this anthem. KO for Knockout, and the rest of the fuckers at Club M."_

"Alright." Hank started to reach for the camera. "I think we've seen more than enough, Deimos."

"No, no." Harley's eyes remained fixated on the small screen. "I'm going to need this evidence in full."

"You already saw the timestamp. The Bloods are miles away from Club M and last time I checked, I don't have the ability to teleport."

Though admittedly, with what he was witnessing, Hank started to wish he could. Harley waved him off.

"With you, anything is possible. Now hush."

" _THANK YOU, OKLAHOMAAAAAAAAAA!"_

Deimos shut the camcorder just as the Hank in the recording collapsed. Harley looked back up, clearly doing his best to not make his reaction obvious on his face.

"That was… interesting." Harley sighed in relief. "Thank God. I'm genuinely glad to have you three cleared from suspicion. Plus, nice to know at least one of us had fun last night."

"Let's not make that same mistake again, mostly for _your_ sake. And if 'fun' means forgetting half of what I did last night because I mixed up my drink with someone else's, then yeah," Hank said. "Fantastic time."

"And here I thought 'fun' was a one-syllable word. Anyway, I would've thought you'd be more careful with _not_ getting yourself drunk, considering one of my guys told me a little while back he ran into these two," Harley pointed at Sanford and Deimos, "wasted to hell during a traffic stop."

"I had to get my mind off of some things recently," Hank admitted.

Harley raised an eyebrow. "What would someone like you have to go through to need a drink?"

"He was out on a date," Deimos answered before Hank could come up with a lie.

Sanford winced while Hank shot Deimos a blistering glare.

"What? It's true you know-" Deimos raised his head in realization, his face paling. "Ohhh. Right. Chief didn't know about that until… now. Haha..."

Harley nodded his head, jutting out his lower lip. "Looks like that vigilante work is really paying off, huh?"

"If you-"

"I'm just messin' with ya, cut me some slack. I could use something other than a drink and a cigarette to lighten up after last night." Harley tossed his emptied cup into a nearby trash can.

"Could use five of each, considering what we're about to deal with here."

The Chief walked off, gesturing for the trio to follow. They caught onto his wordless message, passing through hallways and nervous hospital workers. Hank looked at Deimos.

"You're deleting that as soon as we get home, by the way."

"Uh, no I'm not? Besides, it wouldn't matter if I got rid of it. It's been trending on Neddit's front page for-ACK!"

Hank hoisted Deimos by his collar, slamming him against a wall.

"I-It wasn't me, chill! You think I was the only one recording your solo? Look, look, look!" Deimos scrambled for his phone, activating the application before turning it towards Hank. "See! It's not me! Someone beat me to the punch!"

A quick look at the touchscreen made the video's title apparent. _"'CRAZY HANK' INSANE CLUB M FREESTYLE,"_ floated above the hundreds of comments it had accumulated in less than a day. Sure enough, the video was being taken with an angle and quality that differed clearly enough from Deimos's recording.

"You got that right about the punch." Hank dropped his roommate. "If I find out that this is coming from one of your alt accounts, the hospital is going to need another empty room."

"I would've been fine with that if I got this many upvotes," Deimos murmured. "The dude who uploaded this first is one lucky bastard. The recording's gone viral on NevTube and people are making memes out of it on NorChan. He even got Neddit _gold_ for fuck's sake!"

"On the bright side, judging by the title, the uploader didn't seem to recognize you in the video," Sanford said.

"Let's make sure it stays that way."

"Might want to avoid wearing the same clothing in public, then. Who knows when a random 'fan' might sneak in a picture and connect the dots?" Sanford suggested.

"Can you three hurry it up? And do me a solid by _not_ breaking out into a fight on your way over here?" Harley called out from the other end of the hallway. "We're in a hospital for Christ's sake."

"Odds of me keeping that promise are growing slimmer by the second, Harley…" Hank muttered.

* * *

The sound of vigorous scribbling greeted them as soon as they entered the room, followed by the sight of numerous discarded papers and pencils on the floor. Harley stepped into the room first, waving in the friendliest manner he could think of to the bedridden man working furiously at a sketchpad.

"Hello, Carlos." Harley walked over to his bedside, looking over his shoulder. "Are you feeling any better now?"

As if Harley didn't even exist, Carlos continued his activity. Harley shook his head.

"Still nothing, huh?" The Chief turned to the three bystanders by the door. "You can come in now."

On cue, they entered. Upon closer inspection, the patient's features became evident; he had to be in his early 20's, at least a few years younger than Sanford. A urinary catheter snaked out from the bottom of his hospital gown. Bandages were wrapped around his head, stained the color of clotting blood. Deimos was the first of the trio to speak.

"Who's that?"

"This gentleman right here was the only survivor we found at the scene of the crime. ID we found on him says his name is Carlos Vendetti. Been behind the bars before for the usual host of minor crimes- vandalism, public indecency, whatnot. He's one of the Bloods… at least, he used to be." Harley looked back at the sketchpad. "He woke up about a few hours after we took him in. Doctors said he suffered a concussion, but..."

Harley snapped his fingers in front of Carlos, not even receiving a flinch. "He must love the Fifth Amendment because no amount of good cop, bad cop has opened his mouth this entire damn time. Too early to tell if it's brain damage... though, according to the doctor's report, he doesn't seem to have control of his bowels, and he doesn't seem to really respond to any kind of visual or tactile stimuli, so it's a definite possibility. His hands kept moving in these big, swirling motions, so one of the more artsy boys from the station suggested we gave him a drawing pad. I guess he's been 'drawing' ever since."

Hank picked up one of the scrapped sheets. The entire surface had been shaded into a coal-black. "I assume those 'motions' are what drew these?"

"Looks better than anything Deimos would draw," Sanford quipped.

Deimos raised an eyebrow. "But there's nothing on there."

"My point exactly."

"That's what we originally thought too, until we took a closer look." Harley spoke before Deimos could come up with a retort. "Check the back."

Sanford flipped over the paper. He squinted his eyes against the parchment, making out faded, but ultimately nondescript lines which had been formed when Carlos applied different amounts of pressure to different parts of the paper.

"It's a bit hard to see, but this should make it easier." Harley pulled a tactical flashlight from the collection of tools wrapping around his waist. "Shine it over the dark side and try again."

Following Harley's instructions, Sanford pressed the button at the base of the cylindrical device. A blinding ray of illumination shot out of the bulb, washing over the pitch-black pencil scrawlings. None of the three veterans had to strain their eyes this time around; what Harley was referring to had become perceptible.

Deimos cocked his head, as if a slightly different angle would help. "A… hockey mask, maybe?"

"So you know what this is?" Harley asked.

"Not really, but… it _does_ look awfully familiar," Deimos turned to Sanford. "You see it too, right?"

Sanford nodded. "Yeah, though I'm drawing as much of a blank as you are."

"That symbol's on all of them. Different shapes and sizes sure, but the message is still clear." Harley looked at the messy scraps of paper surrounding the bed. "If any of you have some sudden revelations, then I'd appreciate it if you could share what you know."

The sound of crumpling interrupted everyone's train of thought. Turning to the source made them all realize it was Hank, tearing one of the 'drawings' in half.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" Harley rushed up towards him. "That's police evidence!"

Like Carlos, Hank took no heed of Harley as he brushed past him, tossing the balled-up paper to the ground like litter. Instead, he set himself only a few inches away from Carlos, grabbing onto him. Hank closed most of the distance between their faces, making sure Carlos would get every last detail of his infamous facial wear.

"Who the fuck are you?"

As if the intimidating move had broken him out of a spell, the gangster finally looked up and returned Hank's gaze. His pupils contracted as his mouth opened, his jaw shaking.

"It's you... you're the..."

The whisper made Hank freeze. Carlos's eyes dilated.

"... Dissenter."

Hank felt his grip slightly loosen. "What?"

"Dissenter!" Carlos hissed. "Dissenter be damned!"

With a surprising burst of speed, Carlos drove his forehead towards Hank's chest, teeth gnashing. Hank palmed aside the manic attack, sending his elbow crashing across Carlos' face. An incoherent, gurgling cry erupted from the gangster's throat as he clawed at his dislocated jaw. He fell onto his pillow, writhing in agony.

Harley pulled Hank away, doing his best to restrain Carlos' thrashing limbs. The chief glared at Hank.

"Have you lost your damn mind?"

"You wanted him to talk, I got him to talk." Hank was already heading for the exit. "My work here is done."

Nobody said a word as Hank walked out; Harley literally had his hands too full to say otherwise. The chief turned his head towards Sanford and Deimos.

"If you're going to stand around like deer in headlights, could you guys _please_ call a nurse?!"

* * *

"So uh… that turned out pretty swell, don'tcha think San?"

Sanford slumped against his hospital chair, sitting just across from Deimos. "Let's not talk about it."

"I'm just tryna lighten things up here. Speaking of which... " Deimos tapped the back of his head against the wall he leaned on, standing by Carlos's room. "They don't allow cigarettes in here, right? What if it's for a medical reason?"

"Last I checked, they don't exactly treat cancer with yet more cancer."

"I don't have cancer, though."

"You sure about that? You should really get your lungs X-rayed, prove me wrong."

"Har de harr... this fuckin' sucks!" Deimos crossed his arms. "I hate hospitals. Only thing you hear are a bunch of phones going off and everything just smells so… sterile. Too bad I can't say the same thing about their bathrooms…"

Bathrooms. The word reminded Sanford of something he had nearly forgotten. Or rather, someone.

"Hank's been gone for a while now, hasn't he? You'd think it would take a little less time for a guy to wash his face."

"Maybe he got constipation from Cathy's omelette. Why does it matter? He'll be back sooner or later."

"That's not what I was worried about." Sanford met eyes with Deimos's. "That drawing. You knew what that was too, didn't you?"

"God, I need a cig."

"Deimos."

"Yes Sanford, I did. Err… well, kinda. The whole thing's still a bit fuzzy."

"It's nice to know you were smart enough not to blurt the answer out to the Chief then."

"Obviously. How else was I supposed to explain it? 'I saw a spastic _clown_ wearing it three years ago. It punched me through a wall!' If Chief heard that, I'd be the one in a straitjacket instead of that gangster wannabe."

"I'm still surprised that you could remember it at all, considering you fell about a few dozen feet after you got blasted through solid concrete."

"And I still think you're bullshitting me on that. People don't survive those kinds of falls. Hank doesn't count."

"That's what I thought too. Seems even that couldn't keep you from standing right back up and lighting one of your cancer sticks."

"What can I say? Smoking helps clear my mind."

"That's exactly what you said while I was busy protecting your sorry ass."

"I guess that cig worked, 'cause the first thing I remembered clearly was you getting pissed the fuck off." Deimos grunted, reaching into his pocket. "There's my medical reason. I'm lighting one up."

Sanford stared back at the ground, too busy contemplating to scold his partner. Deimos cursed himself.

"I forgot to bring a pack! Gahhh!" Deimos pressed his hands against the sides of his face. "I'm gonna flip a nut!"

"I think we all are, Deimos."

But not even his own quips were helping Sanford quell the lingering sense of dread that was freshly birthed in him. All three of them had been deep in the Restricted Zone when they ran into that damned clown. And Carlos… no. He was far too young to have been in any major AAHW position. But then how could he have drawn that mask? It certainly wasn't something someone could just buy online- or anywhere, for that matter.

Unless…

"Deimos, do you think-?"

"Shh." Deimos looked towards the door of Carlos's room. "Someone's coming."

The techie's extraordinary hearing had not yet failed him; a few seconds after he warned his partner, Harley and a doctor had walked out. Whimpers could be heard from behind them before they closed the door.

Sanford got up from his chair. "Everything alright?"

"He's sedated." Harley exhaled. "Your buddy nearly gave the only survivor of last night's massacre a heart attack. His jaw's a goner, though."

Sanford lowered his head. "I'm sorry for the trouble, Chief."

" _You_ have no reason to apologize. At the very least, we know Carlos can talk."

"He only does so under extreme pressure," the medical worker who still stood by Harley's side added. "Under hospital protocol, patients who fail a mental stability analysis twelve percent or more below safe threshold are relocated to an asylum. It's clear, even without an examination, that Mister Vendetti is nowhere near functional as a person."

"Hank did that?" Deimos whistled. "Jeez, I know he's one scary dude but… wow."

"The damage was already done. This incident only served as confirmation of the inevitable. I'll dispatch a nurse to tend to him soon." The doctor looked among the three men. "With that being said, it'd be greatly appreciated if none of you make contact with the patient. It's very unlikely he'd be able to give you any recollection of what he saw, and your presence seems to make managing him more difficult."

"Got it. We'll stay away," Harley said. "Thank you for your help."

With a nod, the medical professional walked away. Harley rubbed at his face.

"And there goes all that work for nothing. Superb." He looked at Sanford and Deimos. "Did any of you three plan on going for another gang hit later tonight?"

"Not to my knowledge," Sanford answered. "Would you like us to?"

"Christ, no. The only plan I have is to get some goddamn sleep, and a gang hit would fuck that plan up." Harley yawned. "If you need anything for the rest of the day, talk Lieutenant Mason at the station. He'll figure the rest of this out. You're free to go."

"Alright, take care," Sanford said just as Harley began walking away.

"Good night!" Deimos waved. He lowered his hand once the chief was out of sight. "You know, I actually feel bad for the poor bastard. Can't imagine what type of shit he has to go through on the daily."

"Given that we don't have jobs, it's not hard seeing why."

"Man, what's up with you today, San? You usually don't have a stick this far up your ass!"

Sanford sighed. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Deimos was right. Recently, their interactions have been feeling less charismatically comedic and more snidely hostile.

"Sorry."

"And now, you're _apologizing_ too? You sick or something? Or are you..." Deimos moved his face a little too close to Sanford's. "An _imposter_?! Dun-Dun-DUNNNN!"

"Okay, Deimos. Chill." Sanford pushed Deimos back by his shoulders, the corners of his lips struggling against an involuntary smile. It was one of the rarer moments the hacker's goofiness had defeated him. "I apologized because, I admit, _maybe_ I'm using you as a punching bag for everything that's been going on recently. The stress has been getting to me, is all."

"Work, stress, work, stress, work, stress, bro, just hearing you talk right now is stressing _me_ out! Seriously, you're just like Harley. Hey, if the Anti-AAHW goes broke, you should just go become the police chief of Nevada or somethin'. I feel like you'd be good at that kinda thing."

"Yeah, sure. Just like how you'd become the CEO of your own business, right?"

"You bet your slabby ass I would! It'll be a giant tech company that makes everything look all chromey and shit. We'll make lots of crazy sci-fi guns that'll send Northern Strike Industries bankrupt. My guns will be all like-" Deimos positioned his hands as if he was staring down the scope of a rifle. "Pew-pew! Pew-pew! Lasers and shit!"

"I'm just hoping you don't start _another_ World War, Deimos."

"Nah, man. It'll be fuckin' nuts how many people are gonna be saved with my stuff. And everyone will remember the name of the company that rescued 'em."

Deimos set one of his arms around the back of Sanford's neck, while moving the other in an imaginary-rainbow motion.

"DeimosCorp!"

"Best of luck to you then," Sanford said. "And… DeimosCorp."

"Thanks! Oh, and uh, by the way." Deimos pulled away from him, grinning. "If you did manage to become Chief... you wouldn't mind giving me a few pardons here and there if I need 'em… eh? Buddy ol' pal?"

"If you keep doing your chores, I'll think about it."

"Hell yeah!" Deimos pumped an arm in the air. "We'd be rich man! Me in selling sick gear and you in catching sick assholes. Plus the chicks, baby! Hoo boy!"

' _Well, let's not jump to conclusions,'_ Sanford wanted to say.

Nearby footsteps interrupted their little moment. Sanford looked back down the hall, his smirk quickly disappearing.

"Speaking of assholes…"

By the time Deimos realized it was Hank walking towards them, the veteran had already closed the distance.

"Dude, it's been like, twenty minutes since you were gone. Were ya jerkin' off or something?" Deimos asked.

"Vomiting," came Hank's curt reply. He looked around the rest of the vacant area surrounding his housemates. "Where's Harley?"

"He went home for some shut-eye after the doctor told us not to fuck with Carlos again. Wouldn't be surprised if it was because he secretly didn't want to see your face again for the rest of the day," Sanford said.

"Good. Because Deimos needs to tell us something right now. Something I should have asked the moment he brought up that gangster-purging plan of his."

Deimos straightened out his back. "Huh? Like what?"

"Where did you meet Augustus?"

A short silence followed the question. Deimos raised his hands, as if he was about the explain the greatest plan the world has ever seen.

"Actually, it's a pretty funny story! Get this, right? You know the day when I beat 'The GIL-lotine Challenge'? So just after I beat it, Augustus walked up to me and introduced himself!"

Hank felt a nerve on the side of his head twitch. " _What?_ "

"I know, right?! Crazy how two good things can happen in one day, huh?"

Sanford's slack-jawed stare and Hank's clenched fists told him otherwise. Deimos's enthusiastic expression quickly turned to confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?!" Sanford said, hoping the repetition would signal _something_ to his partner. "You gambled with all of our lives trusting a guy you met at a fast-food restaurant!"

"Ugh! See, this is why I spared those details the first time around. You guys wouldn't understand unless you actually heard what he was talking about. Like, his charisma was almost as good as mine's! The dude knew his shit, man."

"And so does a snake oil salesman, Deimos!" Sanford exclaimed.

"I regret not asking this in the first place," Hank growled.

Deimos outstretched his arms. "What is both of your problems?! If anything goes wrong, I'm pretty sure we could handle it. And nothing _did_ go wrong! Augustus gave us info and we caught all the baddies just like he said where they would be. We can trust him!"

"You're making it sound like he's our friend. Considering he tried to rob us of an extra five-grand the last time we talked to him, I wouldn't think of him even as an acquaintance."

"I know he's not, Hank, but we have cash and he has intel! It's a win-win scenario!" Deimos turned to Sanford. "Back me up here, San!"

"To be honest Deimos, if I'd known about Augustus, I wouldn't have said yes as easily."

"Okay," Deimos nodded, crossing his arms. "Okay, fine. Then, after all this time we've been working with the guy, one of you give me a damn good reason as to why he'd backstab his sugar daddies? Compare that to where this has gotten us and tell me it wasn't worth it."

Only the echoing footsteps of a nurse approaching their location made any noise between them. Indeed, the result of their deals were unexpected to Hank and Sanford, but not in the same way Deimos was referring to. Yet despite the ludicrousness of it all, neither of the two had any counter to give the techie other than doubt.

"It's not a matter of what _has_ happened, Deimos." Hank glowered at the techie. "It's a matter of what _will_."

The nurse weaved by them and towards Carlos's room.

"Yeah? Like what?"

She opened the door as he asked the question. Two blind steps in later, the tray she carried her patient's food in clattered to the ground. Deimos was the first to charge in; the shrill shriek that followed was enough to override any concern over Harley's order in the trio's minds.

"What's going-?"

The rest of his sentence died in his throat.

Droplets traced down large crimson letters; under them, Carlos sat, slumped over, eyes glazed, blood trickling from the pencils stabbed into his wrists. It only took a few seconds for everyone to process the two words haphazardly slathered against the walls:

 **MIND LOST**

Everyone and everything in the room remained frozen. Deimos gulped.

"Chief's gonna be pissed..."

* * *

(Original) A/N: Holy crap! I'm so sorry this took so long to update! I had to get ready for school and I was so damn exhausted by the time I got home. Also, I hope this chapter didn't bore you guys for having only a single setting. But I didn't know how to continue on a chapter after THAT happened.

I guess this chapter may have freaked at least a few people out, but you could thank Creepypastas on the Internet for that. If you don't exactly know what a Creepypasta is, then just Google the not-well-known meme. But believe me, some shit out there is really, REALLY creepy and bizzare, but VERY addicting to read. I don't know if they have MC Creepypastas out there, and I doubt there will ever be since Madness Combat is weird and freaky enough on its own.

In addition, I also realized that this is the perfect time to make that time-jump I was thinking about for a while. The story's getting too stale if it stays like this day-by-day, and at this rate, will never finish (no, that's a BAD thing since I have a lot more exciting ideas in my head, but can't write them yet until this story itself is finished, otherwise I'm backing out of the promise I made in my last chapter).

Again, I'm so sorry that it took me so long to update this. I felt guilty as I saw some views go into my story, and some disappointed readers probably upset at the fact that I didn't continue yet. Like I said, I've never lied to you. I'm going to finish this even if I have to type WITH MY TOES.

Well, that's all. I'll try and update by tomorrow again or hopefully today to make up for my absence. It's the beginning of the school year, so it's now or never. Thanks for reading, and I hope you can forgive me.

~Spirit9871

* * *

(New) A/N: Ahh… so that's when my creepypasta phase started. Yeah, that would explain this chapter and the next a lot; not easy rewriting cheesy horror scenes, mind you. Even this updated version of Carlos Vendetti's message feels underwhelming… but it's probably the best I can logically make out of it given the circumstances.

In any case, those of you who read the original Final Salvation would have definitely noticed the _massive_ changes I've made with this chapter, ranging from major plot points to references of PN2 and possible future stories. Let's get to talking about those right away, shall we?

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ _ **:**_

1 - Chapter title changed from: "A Hint Written in Blood" to "Under Safe Threshold." Less obvious and it just sounds better in general, you know (also bonus points for the PN2 reference).

2 - Speaking of which, PN2 references. Apart from the chapter title, I slid in a subtle one near the end of the chapter. Those of you who have the game already, think you can spot it (hint: it's a campaign reference)?

3 - Melissa is now Harley's daughter. This was a major decision that I feel adds definition to both her and Harley, even though it deviates from the original plot of Salvation. I personally thought this just adds more to these characters, so there's only gain made in passing this decision.

4 - Melissa also works at a hospital. She takes that kind side of hers from her mother.

5 - Lorebuilding of post-War Nevada with Harley. I know you kiddos love your worldbuilding after all. ;)

6 - Augustus's origin in meeting Deimos added. It felt like a necessary detail that should have been there somewhere in the original itself. Bless Gil's Burgers for giving me the perfect opportunity to tie that in.

7 - DeimosCorp. Remember that name.

8 - Carlos's interrogation and final scene improved. Got rid of the "hyperrealistic blood" creepypasta cliche I was cursed with back in 2012 and added some more impactful horror through believability.

9 - Narration and dialogue improved.

10 - Diction enhanced.

11 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

Wow, okay. Pretty sure that was the longest Changelog we've got so far. As of now, it's (yet again) 5 AM for me at July 16th, 2018. I will admit, I would have made this chapter longer were it not for the difficult situation I put myself in with how Chapter 19 starts. So, what we have here for now will do (I'm sure none of you guys will complain about 4,800 words, haha).

 _[Alliterating Alias: Cease the shitty sleep schedule, Spirit. Rested writers rear remarkable reprints!]_

Characteristically charming as always, Alias.

Well, nice to see I've kept my promise 6 years ago about finishing the story. I would certainly not have imagined after all this time though that these stories would have gained the traction that they did. The support you guys have shown over all this time is absolutely overwhelming; all improvements in ourselves as writers is accredited to you all still being here. So another massive thank you to those of you who have been continuously reading and reviewing this work. It's really awesome to see a lot of you guys are loving the improvements so far and with this chapter uploaded, here's to living up to the hype for the second half of the story!

We hope you've enjoyed this rewritten chapter of Final Salvation! Got the rest of summer ahead of me now that I'm done with my Statistical Psychology class, so look forward to a ton of new updates before the Fall term starts!

 **Oh and, go enjoy Krinkels's latest animation: "POWERLESS" if you haven't seen it already (had to omit the FLA part because this site apparently mistakes the title for being a link)!**

See ya!

~Spirit


	19. Pressure

Chapter 19: Pressure

* * *

The ticking clock hanging on the living room wall did little to ease the trio.

Hank slouched in the armchair, staring at the television. From the couch nearby, on one end, Sanford sat reading a book. At the other end, Deimos sprawled, his cellphone in his hands, trying his best not to feel like a fifth-grader stuck in a parent-teacher conference.

The techie looked up from his screen, averting his eyes from his housemates. "So, uh… you guys doin' alright?"

Neither of the two looked at him. Phone still in his grasp, Deimos raised both hands in surrender.

"I already said I'm sorry about the whole 'not saying where I met Augustus' thing, okay? What else do you want me to do?"

"Nothing," Hank replied, his eyes still glued to the 80's movie broadcasting in front of him. "You already fucked us over."

"Oh my God." Deimos rolled his eyes. "Are you _still_ being paranoid about things going wrong?"

"Is English your second language? I just said you already fucked us over," Hank said. "We're cutting ties with Augustus the next time we see him. This joyride is over. Maybe think about doing some damage control."

"What?! No, that's… you're being overdramatic, Hank!" Deimos turned to Sanford. "Back me up here, San! You remember how hyped Hank was for this, right? Tell him he's overreacting right now!"

"Deimos, I don't know about you, but personally, I don't want to be dragged back into another war somehow." Sanford flipped a page. "And I'm sure Hank feels the same."

"But what does any of this have to do with the War?! It's been over for three years now!"

"The AAHW may have been officially dissolved, but pockets of resistance still exist internationally. Clean up is still ongoing." Hank shut off the TV, halfway into one of the show's scripted laugh-tracks. "Augustus and his missions, the Agency, Daniel and Catherine. All of it feels interconnected and we're pushing one of the dominoes leading up to disaster."

"Disaster? Like what?" Deimos asked.

"The last time you asked that, our only lead slit his wrist with a pencil. And that was _today_ ," Hank said.

"You don't have an actual answer, don't you?" Deimos challenged. "If there really is something that might fuck everything in Nevada over, isn't that the perfect reason _not_ to run away and let this slide?"

He looked at Sanford, whose pupils had stopped tracing the pages in front of him. "Don't you two get it? We're doing this to make things better so there won't _be_ another war!"

Hank placed the remote on the table in front of him, turning to Deimos.

"Lend me your computer then, Deimos."

"No," the techie immediately answered. "I already lost my old phone and my old computer. Terabytes of valuable data, gone."

"My condolences, I'm sure most of those terabytes consisted of very educational content. I'm also sure that I was the one who bought you that new laptop."

"Fuck off! You can't just buy me stuff and take it back, you commie! What the hell would you want with mine, anyways? Get your own!"

"I'm going to do my own research on Daniel Richards. And I know that while I don't 'do' hacking, I'm not technologically impaired. It'll just save me the time and energy if I can do it on a computer instead of my phone."

"I can do that for you."

"After everything that's happened so far, I'd rather do it myself. Now, give me your computer."

"On one condition, then!" Deimos crossed his arms. "You give Sanford a break from his cooking for the next three days."

This was enough to break Sanford's eyes from his book. "Huh? What do I have to do with any of this?"

Deimos shrugged. "Nothing bro. Just lookin' out for ya."

"Fine," Hank said.

Deimos's expression lightened. "Good! And while we're at it, how about you delete that stupid ringtone-?"

"Listen here, you little shit." Hank leaned forward with a glare fierce enough to bore a hole through Deimos's skull. "You're not in any position to make demands right now and I'm not fucking around. Stop wasting my time and get your laptop, do you understand me?"

Deimos involuntarily huffed up his chest. His eyes narrowed as he gulped.

"Fine!"

Deimos headed into a nearby hallway. A few minutes later, the techie returned to the living room, plopping the laptop onto the table in front of Hank.

"By the way, the password's 'Hank is a bro,' minus the spaces and capitals."

After nabbing his phone from the couch, he stormed off for a second and last time. Hank finally addressed the elephant in the room staring at him.

"What," Hank spat.

"Forget it." Sanford shook his head as he closed his book. "We've already had this conversation before and I'm too tired to have it again."

"It's only nine."

"Thanks to your conditioning, I've been waking up at five in the morning, whether I needed to or not." Sanford yawned. "Today hasn't been the least stressful of days, either. Guess I owe Deimos a thanks for ending it on a better note."

"I hope you realized that he just tried to coax you into being on his side."

"Sides? So shit-talking's gonna be the new meta in our mansion now?"

"It's always been."

"Hank, hostility is the difference between buddies messing around from just being assholes." Sanford placed his book off to the side. "And, if you haven't noticed, everyone in this house has grown a lot more hostile this past week. Not sure if it's because of the vigilante escapades, but the cause doesn't matter. It's still a problem."

"Outside of you and Deimos constantly roping me into nonsense, that's not _my_ problem."

"Didn't think so." Sanford yawned. "And that's my cue. Night."

Hank gave Sanford no response as he headed off in the same direction Deimos went. A few _tick-tocks_ later, he opened up the laptop. A lock screen immediately greeted him. Half-prepared to drag Deimos back out of his room, Hank typed out the password.

It worked.

The first webpage that greeted Hank told him two interesting facts. Firstly, Deimos had forgotten what he had on his computer before he handed it over. Secondly, Deimos didn't discriminate between three-dimensional and two-dimensional girls.

Hank sighed.

* * *

If using a search engine was part of the Delta Program, Hank would have failed.

A combination of his poor net-surfing skills and the generic name he looked up had left him with nothing for hours. Thousands of Daniels flooded his results; a few doctors, others teachers, but most unknowns.

None marked "former AAHW" as their occupation.

By now, he could feel the monitor's blue light searing his face and eyes like a flashbang. The next string of characters Hank typed out in the browser's URL section was his last hope:

 _NEVNETCONNECT_

Though the domain automatically filled itself in as a recommendation, he found himself struggling against pressing the Enter key. A few seconds of hesitation later, he broke himself out of his cynicism.

The webpage loaded quickly, displaying its sickeningly bright blue and white color scheme. Hank scrolled down, the pit in his stomach growing worse and worse. The lives of those doctors, teachers, and vastly ordinary people were being showcased like television channels in the form of pictures and videos, with the occasional advertisement serving as a commercial break. He rubbed at his face, scowling at the realization that he had looked past at least fifty different posts down the endless stream.

"Alright, you bastards. You got me," Hank muttered to himself.

He moved the cursor to the site's search box, typing his target's name. Once again, dozens of Daniel Richards lined up, only this time, supplemented with a profile picture. Hank involuntarily scrolled down again, irritated at himself more than the website. Why didn't he ask Catherine for a photo? Better yet, why did he even care about whether or not he'd find anything in the first place?

"Oh."

Before his doubts made him abandon his efforts, one of the results caught his attention. A click later, he had entered the profile of one of the Daniel Richards, all personal information displayed for the world to see. Hank sensed familiarity from the profile picture featuring a close up of the young man in the suit. If this was indeed the Daniel he was looking for, then most of the resemblance to Cathy could be seen in the eyes. Otherwise, Daniel's jet-black hair would have fooled him.

Hank sifted through the digital photos. In the first, Daniel holding a trophy, uniformed in football gear with his teammates surrounding him. Another, seemed to be an acceptance letter to a prestigious university. Augustus's words echoed in his head.

"Bright and athletic."

The third photo was one of a family. He took in every detail of the four people standing in front of the navy-blue wall: the stoic expression of the blonde father standing tall. The gentle smile of brunette mother, sitting by her husband with her hands around her daughter's shoulders. And the young girl beaming as she stood beside her brother. Everything about the photograph seemed ordinary enough, save for one inconsistency:

It was uploaded _after_ Daniel's acceptance letter.

Hank rubbed at his eyes again, doubting himself from exhaustion. The photo felt a lot less warmer, but the uneasiness worsened as the picture was uploaded a little after December. Halfway through a school year.

Despite the dozens of friends the profile accumulated, only those three photos remained in the album. If the blonde-haired Augustus was in one of those photos as a "close friend," then he wasn't recognizable. Nothing else had been uploaded beyond the family portrait, which served as Daniel Richards's final post. Whether it was because of the profile's privacy settings or someone's tamperings, there was no way to be sure.

Hank zoomed back into the family portrait, staring at the young girl's face with squinted eyes. Even in a photograph, Catherine's warm presence was palpable. Her eyes and complexion had remained the same all these years, but compared to now, her smile had undoubtedly changed.

 _Click_.

The computer cut to black, its engine fan whirring to a dead halt. Hank straightened himself back on the armchair. He looked at the doorway leading to their rooms.

"If this is supposed to be one of your pranks, I'm selling off your computer."

The lights died in response. Hank looked towards a nearby lamp that shut off on its own. Even as his eyes adjusted slightly in the darkness, the layout of a room he had known for three years now became an incomprehensible mess.

Something shifted by the hallway, pulling Hank's attention back.

"Deimos?"

No. Nothing human could possibly make that noise. The rustling sounded more like a mix between shuffling and scurrying, like an overcrowded nest of large roaches. As if he was chained down, Hank couldn't lift a single muscle off the armchair.

"Dei-"

Two wide, white eyes silenced him from the doorway, with dilated, black pupils at their centers. The head hung sideways off the frame, as if it was suspended in air. Whether it was because of the dark or something else beyond comprehension, the eyeballs had an unnatural, faint glow to them. One thin arm slowly extended itself out of the doorway, latching its palm onto the wall nearby. Then, the other, followed by both legs, until the figure had fully attached itself onto the living room. Like the legs of a praying mantis, the meter-long limbs bent at unnatural angles.

Hank opened his mouth.

In a second, the figure dashed against the wall, climbing across the ceiling, back down the other wall, and then to the floor. Its head contorted with the rapid movement, the neck sometimes even turning on itself as the face remained fixated on him. It was right in front of him now, staring him down with its bright eyes before a single syllable could escape his throat. Only at this distance was Hank finally able to recognize who was before him.

"... Carlos?"

As if the whisper had flipped a switch, Carlos's eyes rolled back. Hank felt his own head involuntarily crane backwards as the world began to dissolve into a familiar nothingness. Harsh, red static raped his mind, growing louder and louder as two words bashed against the walls of his skull.

 _ **MIND LOST**_

His flesh crawled within his head, consuming every living and aborted memory. His mind was an echo chamber.

 _And the chamber reverberated with screams._

* * *

Hank gasped, his back pushing off the armchair as he forced himself back to consciousness. He pressed a hand against his face, feeling the droplets of cold sweat. Truth be told, Hank wasn't even certain if he fell asleep. The drowsiness must have blasted him like a hit and run.

"You, uh… you okay?"

Seeing Sanford sitting on the couch made him quickly control his breathing. Hank turned away at an angle ensuring his face couldn't be seen.

"I'm fine."

"Another night terror?"

"We don't ask those kinds of questions."

"I'm just asking in context of what's happening to us right now. I think our unspoken agreements are less important than the house not burning down by next year," Sanford said. "What did you see?"

"Carlos" resurfaced from Hank's mind in explicit detail. The veteran only received slight reprieve from seeing one of his hands being able to move off the armchair.

"Nothing worth talking about," Hank replied. He changed the topic before the image ingrained itself deeper into his psyche. "What time is it?"

"Five-thirty in the morning. At least you got your sleep, right?"

Hank would have scoffed if doing so wouldn't make Sanford more curious. The doorway naturally caught his attention, as he realized a hand was grasping on the frame. Hank's body tensed.

"... Deimos?"

The hand quickly pulled back. A few seconds later, the techie walked in, emulating a yawn. He straightened out his back, doing his best to look surprised.

"Oh! Mornin', Hank! Sleep well?"

Hank eased back down, his expression returning to its usual blankness. "You're telling me you woke up at… five-thirty three in the morning?"

Deimos puffed out his chest. "Well, I've been training myself, thank you for noticing! Early worm gets the chicks, right?"

"Pretty sure it isn't," Sanford picked up his book. "And I'm also pretty sure your eyes wouldn't be that bloodshot if you actually slept last night."

Deimos's grin instantly melted into a frown. "At least I was doing something on my phone, instead of wasting my time reading books and laying on a couch all morning!"

Sanford still returned to his page. "You need to sleep. I swear to God, you're going to go blind one of these days. Knowing your habits, it's a miracle you haven't already."

"Work while I'm alive, sleep when I'm dead, San. That's how you get bread." Deimos clasped his hands, looking at the table with a nervous smile. "Err… Speaking of 'work.'"

Hank followed Deimos's gaze to the computer. "Take it. Oh, and by the way, you should probably close all your tabs before you hand off your computer next time. I saw your… cartoons, to say the least."

Sanford raised an eyebrow. "Cartoons?"

"First of all, they're not 'cartoons,' you mongoloid." Deimos swerved the laptop to himself. "Second, it's called 'hentai'. And it's art."

"I really don't care."

"Your favorite sword is a katana. You're not fooling anyone, you weeb."

"Weren't you the one who chose and gave him that sword?" Sanford asked.

"Don't stress over the smaller details, San. All that matters is that I'm cultured. Unlike Hank. Who is a weeb." Deimos clicked on a few unresponsive keys before sulking. "Aw, what? This thing should have lasted you like, six hours on a full battery! How the hell did you manage to burn through the whole thing?"

"He left it on the whole night when he passed out," Sanford answered for Hank. "Not everyone can maintain your shining example of a lifestyle."

"Can't you just charge it?" Hank asked.

Deimos groaned. "Yeah, but… that takes _tiiiime_."

"Sleep," Hank and Sanford said in unison.

"Alright, alright! I'm going if you guys want me gone so bad! And for the record," Deimos pointed at Hank. "I'm _definitely_ changing my laptop's password."

Hank waved his hands between his head in sarcastic horror as Deimos headed back to his bedroom. Sanford looked at him.

"Please tell me you disinfected that keyboard before you used it. That kid takes 'sticky keys' to a whole 'nother level."

"Nah."

"Nasty. Just don't be touching me until you wash your hands then." Sanford went back to his book. "Or any of the furniture in this house for that matter."

Hank faced him. "You have the day off. Don't you have anything better to do than cook, clean, and read all day? Or has that maid costume really gotten to your head?"

"I'd actually love to do that. But it tends to be difficult when I'm the only one who bothers to keep things in check around here, you know?" Sanford tossed his book against the couch. "Speaking of which, I'm gonna tidy up the place. Totally slipped my mind after yesterday's clusterfuck."

"You do that." Hank got up, stretching his back out. "I'm getting some fresh air, like a normal human being."

" _Now_? Where?"

"As far away from this house as possible."

* * *

"What the fuck is this?"

As he stood in the center of the autopsy room, Officer Mason lifted the dark, alien object in his gloved hands, observing it under a bright light with squinted eyes. It had the head of a screw, with a pointed bottom that extended five feet down. A few hints of red rusted the metal surface.

" _This_ was lodged deep into Carlos Vendetti's spine." The coroner standing right beside him pointed towards the sharp end of the item. "The 'thread part,' if we can even call it that, drilled all the way down to the end of his sacrum, up until the 'screw head' capped the top of his cervical."

"Well, what does it do?"

"Does this look like something we see every other Tuesday in a corpse?" The coroner scratched his head. "We can't suspect foul play because we don't know what the damn thing does. Hell, I'm not even sure whether to forward this thing to a biologist or an engineer. Maybe both?"

"... Is it dead?"

"Who said anything about it being alive in the first place?"

The answers only made Mason uneasier than when he first saw the monstrous screw. He slowly placed it right beside Carlos, who was already placed in a black bodybag.

"I've tried contacting the Chief about this, but uh… he didn't pick up. Could you forward this finding to him?" The coroner asked.

"I'll deal with it," Mason said as he removed his gloves. "Harley's a bit preoccupied with something personal at the moment."

"That's… unusual of him."

Mason glanced at him. The coroner cleared his throat.

"Right, sorry. In any case, if you need anything else, let me know. Do you have any leads to go by?"

"Just one," the officer said as he turned towards the exit. "I have a good hunch about it, though."

* * *

(Old) A/N: Oh my fucking God! 5 days to update!? Shit! Damn high school is giving me an ORGASM of homework! I can't handle it! Like seriously, come on! Who the fuck does 20 advanced math questions in one night at the beginning of the year?!

Well, fuck it, whatever. I'm so sorry that this took so long again. School is fucking me over like I foreshadowed in my other Author Note in a previous chapter. Kagami, it's cool. I understand. In fact, I'm living the hell you're living in right now. Just review whenever you feel like you want to.

Anyways, it's a 4 day vacation baby! I'm going to make a pledge to spend one whole day (yes you heard me!) to make as many chapters as I can! In fact, by the end of the break, there should be 6 new awesome chapters up (you heard me right again! 6 chapters bitches!)

The reason this chapter mainly took so long was before I uploaded it, I realized that some content was too extreme to keep this as a rated T story. If I change this to rated M, most of you won't be able to find it since your filters aren't set to Rated: All or Rated: M. The part where Hank saw Dan's face after he read the line and saw Carlos was actually A LOT MORE HORRIFYING originally before I edited it. In fact, I'd probably be forced to change the rating if I were to use my scary parts in this chapter, so I made it more teen-friendly. I know that some of you guys might be able to handle it, but others, maybe not so well.

Meh, don't worry. I'm not adding another horror chapter again in the story, which means you won't be hearing this kind of problem from me again. Maybe a few creepy parts, but nothing over-the-edge.

There's nothing else much to say, but thanks for reading. I've gotten a lot of views, so I appreciate all of you guys! You rock! Thank you so much for making this story such a success! Chapter 20 will be up soon!

~Spirit9871

* * *

(New) A/N: … I genuinely want to die reading that old A/N. Hard to believe though I used to freak out over updating five days later instead of… weeks. Makes me really have to re-evaluate myself after all this time. Also, I miss 4-day vacations, damn it.

(Secretly, I find old me adorable though. His enthusiasm, as sickeningly sweet as it is, was genuine)

I pretty much didn't use any of the original foundation for this chapter. Like the last one, it's been totally overhauled from the ground-up; I think I have the "creepypasta" phase to thank for that. Wasn't much material to work with either; the original had some pretty awful pacing and detailing. Did my best though to work with what I got and push it further with some creativity.

Speaking of which, let's pull out our Changelog, shall we?

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ _ **:**_

1 - Chapter title changed from: "Like me on Horrobook" to "Pressure." Not only does the new title sound more foreboding, it also sounds less idiotic.

2 - Massive revamps to the portion before the nightmare sequence. Further details below:

3 - The time shift was changed from "weeks after" the hospital incident, to literally the evening right after. The time jump originally just made no sense and it was executed really poorly.

4 - Most obviously, Sanford and Deimos became more involved in this version. The lovely duo getting more screen time for their not-so-lovely collective problems.

5 - A little more lorebuilding with Hank mentioning the remnants of the AAHW internationally existing. It's an important detail not just for this story; that's all I'll say.

6 - NevNetConnect (or "NNC"). Thank Alias for the name and awesome acronym.

7 - Nightmare sequence itself. Like the last chapter, I put a lot of work in actually trying to make this terrifying rather than the creepypasta cliches I've apparently come to love back then.

8 - Like Change 4, after the nightmare sequence, Sanford and Deimos got a lot more involved with Hank. A lot of cringe deleted in the process.

9 - It's called "hentai." And it's art.

10 - Autopsy scene with Mason. Mason, nor an autopsy for Carlos, never even existed in the original, but this is the perfect scene to tie in a lot of plot points.

11 - Narration and dialogue improved.

12 - Diction enhanced.

13 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

That's that. As of now, it's November 8th, 5:07 PM for me as I type this. All I will say is that I'm really gonna have fun with the next chapter. OG's will know why. ;)

Got not much else to say. Personal update: I caught bronchitis, so that's pretty fucking radical. On the bright side, the term's almost over, so things aren't TOO bad, I guess? Ah well.

We hope you've enjoyed this rewritten chapter of Final Salvation! Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, in case if I miss the update by then. Will definitely see ya'll here before Christmas!

Thanks for reading!

~Spirit


	20. Warmth and Rain

Chapter 20: Warmth and Rain

* * *

"You know, when you called me up earlier with a date already planned out, I couldn't believe it," Cathy told Hank, her back against the wood of her front door. "What's the special occasion?"

The two stood in front of her home. Hank wore a dark silk suit and dress shoes, donned all in black. Cathy wore a baby blue evening dress, topped off with matching high-heels. At the very least, their attire was on the same page for the first time.

"I thought a change of pace was in order," Hank replied. "Considering our crime calls have been pretty quiet recently, this was a good time."

With a grin on her face, she leaned forward, still close by her front door. Her hands were crossed behind her back.

"What?" Hank asked.

"Are you _sure_ that's all it was?"

Hank tilted his head to the side slightly. "Am I missing something here?"

Cathy sighed, but quickly recovered her composure. She finally pulled away from the door, showing him the box in her hands.

"Happy one-month anniversary, Hank!"

"Oh," Hank replied with a little more surprise than he had hoped for. He looked back down at the small, rectangular box. "I see."

He took it and lifted the lid, revealing a very familiar, sleek rectangular object. "You got me a cellphone?"

"Yeah!" Her expression twisted in concern. "Do you… not like it?"

"I mean… you do know I already have one, right? You've definitely called me on it before at least once."

Cathy clasped her hands in front of her. "Oh. Right, of course! I'm sorry, that was really stupid of me. You can give it back if you don't want it."

"It's fine." Hank recapped the box before pocketing it. "Thanks, I guess."

"I love that suit, by the way!" She continued with an old, but familiar giddiness. "How much did that cost?"

He was looking away from her as she asked the question. "Two thousand bucks, I think?"

"That much?!"

"He told me it was on the inexpensive end."

"'He?' Who…?" She shook her head, forcing her smile back on. "Never mind. Where are we heading out to eat, if you don't mind me asking? I can't help but feel excited seeing you dress up all fancy like-"

"Look, Catherine," Hank interjected. "Let's just get moving."

Her grin melted, realizing he still wasn't offering his hand. In the distance, the sun slowly lowered itself out of view.

"Sorry. Yeah."

* * *

Hank and Cathy sat on leather-cushioned seats inside The Gioiello. Suited waiters and waitresses travelled to other customers sitting at nearby tables, all of them draped in jewelry and holding conversations that were just as "exotic" as the name of the restaurant. Soft, orchestral music flowed out of speakers, rebounding against gilded walls and marble floor tiles— as expected from an establishment that took pride in placing itself as far as geographically possible from Dead Nevada and any other undesirables.

And in the center of it all, Catherine Richards sat before him, picking absentmindedly at her dinner with fine silverware.

Just like the restaurant's layout, Hank had meticulously planned everything after the last date's disaster. He had chosen the most expensive restaurant he could find. He had planned out the hour they could meet based on their schedules. He had reserved the seats for them.

All she had done was choose her dress and show up.

"Is something wrong with the food?" Hank asked, doing his best to keep his voice level.

Cathy blinked a few times. "Oh, no. The food's amazing, really. Sorry I'm not eating much right now. I just…"

She offered a half-hearted smile. "I don't know if I'm worth this much trouble."

Hank shrugged.

They returned to their plates, to the silence. Too bad "conversation topics" wasn't an item on the menu.

"So…" Her eyes trailed away momentarily as she twirled her fork around. They refocused themselves back onto Hank with newfound confidence. "How's everything?"

"As good as it can be, I suppose. I'm enjoying my time outside of the house a lot more recently."

"Really? Why's that?"

"The two idiots I'm stuck with have been kind of a pain in the ass recently. I'm starting to wonder how much of my life is my own." Hank waved his steak knife in the air. "Don't do that, Hank. Wear these clothes, Hank. No killing, Hank. Next thing I know, they'll be…"

Hank expected at least a grin, but Cathy's features creased in a frown. He fell back to his tasteless sirloin steak, which had long since grown cold. Not like his dead taste buds could tell the difference between five-star and fast food.

"They don't know better," Hank concluded. "Better than I do, at least."

"Am-" Cathy's voice tripped in her throat. "Am I budging into your life?"

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Where'd _that_ come from?"

"I feel like maybe I'm just... dragging you around," Cathy intoned, slowly.

"You're not," Hank brushed it off again.

"Then what am I to you?"

"You're a valuable asset for public relations."

"An asset," Cathy repeated, a mirthless smile spreading across her face. "That's what I am to you."

"What did you want me to say?"

"Not an _asset_." Cathy's voice quivered. "Maybe something less _technical_?"

"Well, in that case-"

Before he could stop himself, Hank had a hand across his chest. He could feel the scars through his overpriced dress shirt, criss-crossing that abused piece of flesh and bone and muscle, pierced a dozen times by bullets and blades. Pain was an old friend, yet this pain was no acquaintance of his.

They locked eyes. He recognized the glint in her trembling gaze.

"I'm not sure."

A few seconds of nothing later, Catherine stood, the napkin on her lap falling to the floor. The blonde walked away from their table, the hasty clacks of her high-heels against the marble turning the pompous heads of the other patrons. Their stares naturally turned back to Hank, followed by accusatory whispers.

One of the more concerned waiters approached him.

"Is everything alright, sir?"

Hank smacked a fifty-dollar bill onto the table, his chair screeching as he got up. He looked at the still-swinging door.

"Keep the change," he said.

* * *

It didn't take Hank long to find Cathy outside.

She stood, alone by the nearby crosswalk, a few meters away from the restaurant. Despite the signal light telling her she could cross, she remained still, staring at the ground.

Hank walked up to her.

"Hey, Catherine."

She turned away from him. The signal light flickered from white to red.

"Was that your charismatic way of leaving me with the bill?" Hank said, somewhat jokingly.

His monotone delivery made the quip come out a lot more accusatory than witty. For Hank, the onerous silence that followed made the immediate afterthought far worse.

"Is this some kind of test?" She finally asked him. "Is that what all of this is?"

"I think we've reached a point far beyond testing-"

"Stop it." Catherine looked at him with a firm, cold resolution he'd never seen on her features before. "Stop acting so _indifferent_ to everything. It isn't cool, or funny, or whatever you think it is. It's just confusing and it _hurts_."

"How is that hurting you?"

"Just…" She took a deep breath and closed her eyes before continuing. "Just listen. I know you're a really smart guy, but I need to say something genuine because I'm pretty sure you can't. Or don't want to, I don't know. Just hear me out before you say anything. Alright?"

Hank nodded.

"On the night that you got drunk at the club, that was the only time I've ever seen _you_ , and that was through a freestyle. So I tried talking to Deimos about it. About you. And almost everything he told me just made things even more confusing. The only things he did say that made any sense was that you were apparently dating me so you could make some dumb, humiliating bet with Sanford. That, and you were looking for my brother, for some reason."

 _Goddamnit, Deimos,_ Hank thought and almost mouthed, before he remembered he didn't have his mask on. Catherine seemed too engrossed in her words to notice his jaw tighten.

"But thinking about it now, even that doesn't make sense. Why would you bother looking for my brother if you're only doing this for a bet? And how does Deimos know about it? All of this is swirling around my head right now, and I just… I just feel sick. Tonight hasn't helped make that feeling go away."

"None of this helped?" Hank asked.

"Of course, none of this helped! Did you really think I was dating you for your money?" She threw down her hands. "I've tried, Hank, but… you still just don't feel anything, do you? Nothing besides annoyance or pain. Whenever you spend time with me, it's because of obligation, not desire. So maybe it's time write it off as another failure on the pile of failures which makes up my miserable existence."

Cathy laughed a bitter laugh. "I said my part. What's your excuse now? And please, be honest."

"Why do you care so much about me?"

"Because I _like_ you!" She put as much stress as she humanly could on the most important word in her sentence. Then, she pulled herself away. "But that feeling is just going to die if I don't get something genuine from you back. Tell me, what am I to you?"

"I'm not sure," Hank repeated, slowly.

The streets weren't dark enough to hide the tears welling in her eyes. "How can you not be sure after all this time?"

"Catherine, I'm not saying that out of indifference, or whatever else you want to call it. You said you wanted something genuine out of me and I am telling you right now, I am _genuinely_ not sure how I feel, and given a choice between an unknown and something I can explain in objective terms, I'd use the objective term every time. It generally gets less people hurt. Or killed.

"You're right about what you, or should I say, _Deimos_ explained. In the beginning, I dated you because Sanford offered to humiliate himself if I went through with it. The objective reason is that I know Sanford isn't stupid, contrary to what it seems. He definitely has a cause for going to such lengths. Though, because I'm telling you everything now, the real reason why I've started showing up on my own accord… is something I haven't figured out."

 _But I'm still trying to_ , he didn't add.

Though they were alone outside, they felt suffocated into a deadlock. A crack of thunder was the only act of mercy granted to them by some cringing, merciful higher power.

Cathy tensed up momentarily. She looked towards the cloudy sky.

"Huh? Is it going to-?"

The rain came in full blast before she could finish. Somehow, she managed to look more miserable than she did before as her damp hair stuck onto the front of her face. Cathy glanced up as she heard droplets hitting nylon above her head.

"I checked the weather before I went out. They said it was going to be a light shower." Hank said, holding the umbrella out over her. "Someone in the weather department needs to be fired."

She stared at him, noticing the umbrella was too small for him to fit under with her. Despite that, he still kept her covered entirely.

"Seriously, though, don't you have any connections that could… you know?" Hank asked.

Cathy finally let out a small laugh a few seconds later. "I work for the paper. Not the channel."

"Is there a difference?"

Cathy smiled. "A slight one."

She looked back down at his hand holding the umbrella. Slowly, she inched her hand towards his, making sure Hank was aware as to what she was doing the whole way through. Even as their fingers pressed against each other, he remained silent. His grip on the umbrella's handle tightened, causing the wood to slightly crackle beneath the pressure.

By the time Cathy's hand wrapped around Hank's, his violent grip loosened. As she leaned in until they were side-by-side, she pushed the umbrella slightly towards him, covering only half their bodies from the water. Cathy could feel the cold of his hand as Hank felt the warmth of her arm.

"Catherine," Hank said in a voice lower than usual. "You're going to get wet."

"You should have brought a bigger umbrella, then."

"You're not wrong, but still-"

"It's okay." She whispered, looking up at him. "I like it this way."

The signal light had made numerous cycles, but right now, they were cleared to walk. And so, they crossed.

* * *

They might as well have not used the umbrella, because by the time the couple entered through Cathy's front door, the two were completely soaked.

"Soooo… the next time we have a long, romantic walk, let's make sure it's _not_ under a typhoon, agreed?" Cathy said as she kicked off her wet high-heels.

"You read my mind," Hank replied, struggling with the umbrella. Closing it, he pulled off one of his dress shoes using just the sole of the other. "Is your mother home?"

Her face went sullen. "She's um… still in the hospital. Has been ever since, you know."

 _Mother's hospital bills_ flashed through Hank's mind.

"I see," he said, instead of smacking himself.

Everything became terribly quiet again. She looked up, grabbing at one of his arms just as he slipped out of both his shoes.

"Hey, come with me."

"To where?"

"My room."

"Wait a minute, I'm-"

Her sudden decision to pull him nearly made him trip over their haphazardly placed shoes. If it weren't for the earlier blunder, he would have been able to complete his sentence. He was only expecting to walk inside for a towel, not for… _this_. Involuntarily, Hank followed Cathy up the stairs of her house, then through the door of her bedroom. It was at this moment that Hank had the disturbing realization that he had never been inside a girl's room before.

He could hear Deimos telepathically screaming at him.

"The heater is hottest in here," Cathy explained as he looked around. "Warm yourself up. I'll grab you a towel. Actually, do you want to take a shower?"

Hank blinked at her. Her cheeks burned red.

"Separately, of course! Haha…"

"I'm good. Thanks."

"Are you sure? You might catch a cold."

"I'll be fine. I don't have a spare change of clothes."

"Ah, that's true. You mind if I go in first, then?"

Hank shrugged. "Your house, your shower."

It hadn't occurred to him until after Cathy left the room as to how unusual her request was. But judging by his luck tonight after the restaurant and rain, running after her might be a bad idea.

So he waited, standing almost perfectly still to ensure the water on him wouldn't spread around the entire room. While the minutes passed, the rare silence allowed him to appreciate every detail surrounding him to its fullest extent… or lack thereof.

Despite the house's grand appearance, the room was surprisingly dull in comparison. The walls were a soft gray, with a large, white folding closet to his right and a king-sized bed to his left. In the far left corner hung a hollow wooden wall shelf in the shape of a butterfly. Different bug-related knick-knacks congregated in each layer of the shelf, with the Hercules Beetle from the carnival proudly occupying the highest level. Beneath that was an oak nightstand, with a few worn entomological and fictional books on top. A large window right beside the nightstand shielded the room from the fierce storm.

Amidst the simplicity, one particular object jutting out from underneath her bedside caught his eye. A plastic container, and a large one at that.

It was stuffed almost to the brim with crumpled-up papers. He could see the looseleaf-sized sheets beyond the translucent sides, but nothing more than blurry words. Perhaps it was because of the circumstances that he felt so off-put by it. Or maybe something in his past hinted at potential clues like these. The cause didn't matter.

He wanted to open it.

After a quick glance at the door and then back to the container, Hank went down on one knee. Slowly, he reached out for the top of the box inch by inch until-

"Phew," Cathy's voice came as the door to the bedroom swung open. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

Hank was already standing back at the center of the room by the time she entered. His arms were crossed as he faced away from her.

"Is… everything alright?" She asked.

He turned around. "Yeah. Everything's-"

As soon as his eyes processed the fact that she was wearing nothing but a long towel, his words imploded in his throat. Hank gulped them down as quietly as he could.

"Catherine."

"Hmm?"

"Why are you not wearing any clothes?"

"Well, this _is_ my bedroom." She pointed at the closet behind him. "Where my clothes are located."

"Yes, but I don't think that's the point here. Bringing fresh clothes _with you_ was an option."

"If you don't feel comfortable, you can stand outside. Though, I would prefer if you could at least stay here so you don't track more water all over the place. And, well, we can talk a little more, too."

The Deimos in Hank's head was now ripping his hair out. As ironic as it sounded, Hank felt like a naked kid standing in the middle of an intersection.

"... Or you can keep staring at me if it makes you feel any better," Cathy added.

Scratch that. Like a naked kid standing in the middle of a _freeway._

"Go ahead and change," he replied. "I'll wait."

To his confusion, she pursed her lips as she passed him. Hank could hear her aggressively sift through the clothes from her wardrobe. He looked back down at the container.

"There's something I want to ask you about."

"Yeah?"

"Your… relationship life." He stumbled on his own words. "Like, past lovers and all."

"Relationship life?" She stopped shuffling behind him. Even without him looking at her, Cathy's coy grin was palpable. "Are you jealous?"

"I'm just sizing up how experienced you are."

"Oh? And what have you sized up so far?"

The way her words rolled off her tongue somehow made whatever invisible force pulling him to turn around stronger. Actually, what was the big deal with him not turning around? It was normal, right? Well, at least according to Deimos. Maybe he should assess the situation.

Yeah, assess. That's all this was. _Assessment._

"I-"

Thunder drowned the rest of his sentence. Lightning knocked out the power. The small squeak that escaped Cathy's throat, combined with the lights giving in, made Hank turn around in full. Even in the dark, he could tell Cathy was still wearing her towel, though he could also recognize the difference in the way she froze. He could tell it wasn't a short, surprised freeze-up. She held the stunned, distant stare which lingered in shell-shocked soldiers.

"Catherine," Hank called. "Catherine, are you alright?"

She forced an unconvincing smile, as if she were trying to convince herself everything was fine.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Don't worry."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, promise. It uh, it surprised me, is all. I'll just... go get my clothes."

As they both turned away from each other, the atmosphere went frigid again. Between her and that damned container in the dark, there were too many feelings swirling inside every organ of his body. When Catherine said she felt sick, was this what she meant?

No, that didn't matter. He just needed to get the hell out of here. At least, out of this room.

"I'll go reset the circuit breaker," Hank declared.

Only the sound of rain violently battering against the window filled the room. A few more seconds of nothing later, Hank began walking towards the door. The sound of thunder boomed once again. Unlike the last time, Hank could tell Cathy didn't freeze.

Her arms were now wrapped around his chest.

"Catherine," he spoke as soon the thunder faded away, still facing the door. "What are you doing?"

"Don't," she whispered.

"I'm just going to see if I can get the power back-"

"Just stay here. I'm scared."

"Of the dark?"

"Of being alone." She buried her face into his back. "Again."

It was easier said than done. Hank could shape out every single one of Cathy's features pressing against him, separated by a thin cotton barrier. If he didn't feel like he was going to explode from their walk under the rain, he certainly did now.

"You're scared too, aren't you?" Cathy asked before he could formulate another excuse. "Well, I'm going to be selfish and say I'm more scared than you are. I'm scared that you're going to go through that door and never come back. I don't want to be alone anymore, Hank. _Please_."

This was happening. This was actually happening to him. The Deimos in his head was a bald corpse by now, mortification etched on his blanched techie face.

"What happened to that towel you promised me?"

That was his last-ditch effort before he slid down the slippery slope.

"I was going to give you mine."

That was her keeping him on track.

"But you only have one towel and that's the one on your-"

"I know, you blockhead."

The sensation of her embrace was starting to feeling less and less threatening. Restraint was becoming more and more difficult. He shouldn't have been pulled into this. He didn't deserve this.

And she especially wouldn't deserve what would come after this.

"You chose the worst person in the world not to be alone with," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hank could feel one of Cathy's arms lift upwards, her hand now caressing the bottom of his chin. She only needed the tiniest bit of force to make him turn around.

"I know that too," she whispered back.

Their faces were close enough to feel each other's breaths yet far enough to see each other's eyes. Hank tried tugging away at her hand, but his strength, or perhaps his motivation, quickly ebbed away.

"You don't want to do this. Everyone in this damned country is going to hate you."

She placed her other hand against his, quelling his resistance entirely. Right now, Cathy was a lot stronger than he was.

"Let them hate me."

"I'll hurt you."

"I'll let you."

Cathy moved an inch forward, pressing her lips against Hank's as they closed their eyes. His hands lowered, now clutching her shoulders as he pulled her closer. As their lips and bodies gently pressed together, his slight shift in movement was enough to cause her towel to fall off her as thunder struck. Neither change stopped them.

The earlier feelings transformed into something more fierce as Hank held Cathy. Something more carnal; suppressed, selfish desires that would have otherwise interfered with his training. She was completely right to say he was scared. Hank feared all these unknowns, all these impulses. None of this made sense, not like the rest of his life did before, during, and after the War.

Maybe it didn't have to.

* * *

When Mason had returned to the Order of the Gray Blood's slaughtering ground in Dead Nevada, he wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for. The rain would have made any sort of evidence he could find impossible to recover. He had already realized this on his drive here and now, sitting in the warm comfort of his squad car, was starting to question why he didn't turn around the moment it started pouring.

Still, Mason emerged from the comparative safety of his vehicle. This was about more than just the drill the coroner showed him, after all.

This was personal.

As he was immediately soaked, he looked around and between the dark, disrepaired buildings. Shredded corpses of young gangsters resurfaced in his mind. The mess had been cleaned up by now… or as clean as it could be. Mason could swear he could still see the faint splotches of cruor against dirty brick walls and broken stop lights.

He walked over to one of the decrepit houses, taking slight reprieve under the roof by the front door. Paint chipped off its sides, with dark windows boarded shut. Mason knocked twice.

"This is the SIN Police. Is anyone there? I need to ask some questions."

Nobody answered. The officer pressed his ear against the door, closing his eyes. If anyone was living inside, they'd done a good job concealing themselves.

Mason pulled himself away from the home and back into the freezing rain. With two other buildings, he repeated the process twice more, receiving no reply either time. It seemed as though he wasn't the only one haunted by the Gray Blood massacre.

He turned back around, pulling his cap down as he sighed.

"Sorry, Harley," he whispered to himself.

When Mason looked back up, he noticed something standing in the distance. He squinted his eyes, confirming his intuition that there was indeed a person leaning against a building just a couple dozen yards away. A realization hit him as he was about to walk over:

Who in their right mind would be casually standing around in the middle of a thunderstorm?

Something felt incomplete about the picture before him, but maybe waiting would give him an answer. In the cover of darkness and rain, Mason crouch-walked his way towards a nearby alleyway. Only a few feet separated himself from the stranger now; even under this violent rain, if the figure was going to speak, then Mason could hear it. At the very least, he could go back to the station after a drug bust.

"Explain to me why I've wasted half an hour standing around here," the figure finally spoke.

Right on cue; this was unmistakably the voice of a man.

"I'm sorry, sir," another male replied. "The weather made my targets harder to follow."

"Do you have his location?"

"Affirmative. The tracking device is functional."

"Good. It's heartwarming to know the girl retains some utility."

The officer could hear the man leaning against the wall shift his body.

"Catherine Richards," the first man continued, mumbling to himself. "Odd. She was never the efficient, calculated type to achieve what she has. Truth be told, I expected her to fail, miserably."

"There's more regarding her. Based on the location of the tracking device and the layout of her home… it seems as though she has formed a very close relationship with Wimbleton, sir."

"Is that so?" The first voice went quiet. He chuckled. "Fascinating."

Whoever the first stranger was, he had taken a few steps forward. Mason felt for his pistol, sweat now mixing with the rainwater trailing down the side of his face. What the hell had he stumbled into?

"Move the rest of our units in. The area has been cleared out."

"Already, sir?"

"The process was easier than expected."

In that instant, the stillness of the neighborhood around Mason went from depressingly solemn to terrifyingly empty. There were people living here before. Families, many of which, too poor to be anything but vulnerable against the rest of the war-torn world.

And now they weren't.

"I do find something odd, sir."

"And what would that be?"

"As favorable as our current circumstances are, with the daughter's recent disappearance, I would imagine one of the places the police force would investigate is here. We have yet to see such an investigation take place."

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"That is true. Very odd indeed. What do you think…" The first stranger turned his head towards the alleyway. "… _officer?"_

Mason lifted his gun to head-level as he popped out of his hiding spot. At this angle, he could clearly see both strangers were wearing gray raincoats that covered the top-halves of their faces.

"Where is she!"

"Why, that's quite unprofessional of you." The first stranger maintained his coy grin. "Shouldn't you be reading me my Miranda Rights, sir?"

Mason glared down his sight. "Do you have any fucking idea as to how much grief you've caused?"

"Absolutely not, officer. Or, perhaps I should call you 'detective,' for your _superb_ deductions?"

"Hands where I can see them!"

The first man lowered his head, evolving his chuckles into full-blown laughter.

Mason tightened his grip on his weapon. "What's so funny?"

"Do you think of yourself as a hero?"

"Huh?"

"Ah, no. It's just that…" He raised his arms by his sides, less in surrender and more in mocking surprise. "It puzzles me that the first thing you asked is the location of your superior's daughter above anything else."

"What the hell are you babbling about?"

"Detective, you've listened in on that whole conversation, correct? Then tell me, why is it that the first thing you asked was not regarding the well-being of the former residents here, but rather, _only_ her? A combination of the two would have sufficed, no?"

The hooded man lowered his gaze as he continued.

"Perhaps the pressure overwhelmed you, as you broke multiple laws whilst apprehending an unarmed criminal, who was proven guilty by assumption. You're scared and that's quite understandable. I would be too, if I was facing someone who dominated me in every facet. Or perhaps..."

The hooded man raised his head. "... you don't care about the people you serve, especially the ones here. Rather, the idea of an illustrious promotion excited you like a moth to a lamp. Why else would you have come alone, on your own volition?"

Mason remained still and silent. The hooded man widened his smile.

"Need more time to answer?"

"Shut it!" Mason raised his gun. "Hands up!"

The hooded man took a few steps forward. Mason edged back an equal distance.

"Stop moving!"

 **"** Honestly, you're not very bright, are you? I'm intrigued to know how you planned on escaping this corner you've trapped yourself in." Hands raised, he walked in an arc around Mason, stopping after rotating 90 degrees from his original position. "Did you think the puddles sloshing underneath your boots would have made no noise? Were you planning on climbing up a fire escape and making your way from rooftop to rooftop, like a comic-book vigilante?"

"I said-!"

The hooded man walked towards him, pushing Mason against a wet, brick wall. The man pressed his forehead against the pistol, the whites of his eyes now visible.

"Pull the trigger. See what happens."

Mason felt a sudden pressure against his abdomen. By reflex, he fired.

Recoil kicked his hands back as a bullet shuddered through the barrel, smashing against the hooded man's head. The suspect crumpled to the ground, falling onto his back.

Mason could hear himself breathing while his hands shook. After feeling for his stomach, he realized all the man in front of him had done is lightly press his fist against him, as if to emulate a knife. Mason forced himself to calm down, pointing his gun towards the second stranger.

"Hands! Right fucking-!"

Another boom vibrated across the air; one that sounded like thunder but wasn't. The next second, Mason was on the ground, screaming and clutching at his right thigh.

"Hmm." The first stranger stood back up, rolling his shoulders. "Shooting an unarmed civilian could cost you more than your job. Were you aware of this fact when you blew my brains out?"

The first stranger angled his head well enough to reveal his skull was completely intact, as if nothing had happened. Mason's eyes widened. He had shot him. He had shot him right in the _fucking_ head. The red puddle on the ground was there with all the graymatter and everything.

"How?!" Mason managed to choke out.

"There are many things that not even your level of deduction can make sense of." The immortal stranger pocketed his right hand. "You chose to step into a _war_ , officer. You can't possibly comprehend what that's like. Not with your laughable level of training."

Mason tried reaching for the gun he dropped. Before he could, the immortal stranger drew his own and fired. Mason screamed louder and rolled onto his back, clutching at the fresher wound in his arm.

"That one was for self-defense, your honor!" The immortal stranger cackled. "I had my hands up and everything! I just don't know what got into him!"

"Pardon me, sir, but you've known he was spying on us the whole time?" The other, mortal stranger asked.

The immortal stranger's expression flipped back to neutrality. "You did as well, no?"

"I was prepared to strike back, if you wished for any of us to interve-"

"You know that is not the issue," the immortal stranger spoke without facing his inferior. "Why did you remain silent?"

The mortal stranger remained speechless.

"Do not try to hide your mistakes from me. I will know." The immortal stranger kicked away Mason's pistol. "In any case, this is why we do not have outdoor meetups as you've requested this time around. Even, and _especially,_ under heavy rain."

"Sincerest apologies, sir. It won't happen again."

"I know. You're on your second strike now. You know what happens on your third."

"Yes, sir."

The immortal stranger squatted down beside Mason, gun casually still in hand. He dug out a wallet from one of Mason's pockets, flipping it open.

"'Lieutenant Mason,'" He read. "I see. Naivete did not lead you here. _Arrogance_ did. But arrogance cannot protect your leg from rifle rounds, it seems."

Mason wasn't sure whether it was the rain or the blood loss making his body grow colder. Likely both.

"I know your type. You're courageous. Passionate. Suicidal. They had a name for your kind in the AAHW. _Grunts_." Like a piece of litter, he tossed the wallet onto Mason. "For humoring me, I'll offer you an opportunity most of those Grunts weren't granted. Look carefully at the windows around you. What do you see?"

Still writhing on the ground, Mason turned his head to the right. His skin paled; countless blue visors and glasses stared at him from the windows of houses all around him.

"Do you understand the hopelessness of your situation now? You were dead the moment you stepped out of your car." The immortal stranger stood back up, looking towards the buildings. "Most of these dwellings were populated by families of ex-AAHW. The 'familial losers' of Nevada, as you have so-graciously labelled them in your minds. You pranced around Nevada, believing and preaching in a righteousness that doesn't exist. But here, in the wastelands of the forgotten, your shining justice is covered under walls of grime and blood. And because of that, your authority here means _nothing_."

"Fuck… you," Mason spat.

"For someone holding himself so highly, you have such dull final words. Shame." The immortal stranger aimed his pistol one last time. "You shouldn't have come alone, Lieutenant. At the very least, you could have died here with someone else, in this forgettable alleyway."

The sound of thunder blocked the noise of the final shot. The mortal stranger stepped forward as the immortal stowed away his weapon.

"This will not bode well with our cover, sir."

"Cover? You're one step behind. Haven't you realized it by now?"

He looked up at the sky as the downpour remained ceaseless. As his hood slid off his head, the grin that returned on his face became clear to the world.

"Everything is ready."

* * *

(Original) A/N: THE MOST EPIC CLIFFHANGER IN THIS WHOLE STORY! AND I'M GOING TO TOP THAT LATER ON BABY!

LOL. Okay, enough caps locking. I'm glad this story has gotten a lot of attention. I'm sorry though, I can't keep my 6 chapter promise. But in return, I decided to give you THIS. The greatest chapter I've written in the story by far in my opinion. Still, I did give off a lot of hints in this chapter, because there's a lot more surprises and action coming (if you didn't catch on the clues in this installment, like seriously dude, WTF? I made it as freaking clear as possible!)

I want to thank all my viewers and to those of you following this story. Your show of interest inspires me to continue.

Not much to say. I hope you guys can still find it in your hearts to forgive me though. I know, I know, I'm a cheap liar. But I will make this story end with a bang. Believe me, you won't regret it.

When Salvation ends, I will write one-shots and more multi-chapter Madness Combat Fanfictions based off before and/or after this. No separate series to confuse readers. Just one set of stories that everyone will like. Then, I will do some crossovers and fanfics on other topics. Maybe a Sonic the Hedgehog + Madness Combat? IDK. It sounds original, but it will be difficult to sort out. Still, humor has to be a consistent factor in all my stories. Otherwise, you're just reading boring crap.

I suppose I will see you in Chapter 21. Updates will be occurring mainly in the weekends and such, or on vacations, so if I don't update for a long period of time, don't worry. I'm still alive. I'll make sure to tell all of you guys when I'm leaving for good. And that won't be for years.

Thanks again to all of you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter (and I'm sure most of you did), because the cool parts are going to start soon!

See ya later!

~Spirit9871

* * *

(New) A/N: My God, I'm so fucking glad I got to rewrite this chapter. Like… there's just SO MUCH wrong with it in the original; I'm not going to even talk about the original Author's Notes anymore at this point. Like, they're adorable yes (and that's why I keep them), but after rereading the original versions of these chapters, it's just the cherry on top of nightmare-flavored ice-cream.

I'm even angrier at myself for that last line, damn it.

But yeah, it's interesting how this chapter is coming out around the same time that the original did. Actually managed to get this chapter published during Thanksgiving Break, so I'm really proud of that (that's approximately 2 weeks after the last update, as I'm aiming for). And yes, for the record, there aren't any crossover fanfics happening; I think I should be a lot more focused on the current mountain of stories I have planned for my series proper.

(Sonic and Madness Combat... Jesus Christ)

Straight to the Changelog we go:

* * *

 _ **Changelog**_ _ **:**_

1 - Chapter title changed from: "The One Thing They Didn't Take From Me" to "Warmth and Rain." I don't think I really need to explain where this idea came from.

2 - Major adjustments to the early scenes, involving more tension between Hank and Cathy. It feels a bit more real now, at least.

3 - Major changes to the final scene as well, largely the inclusion of Mason than just an unnamed officer. Using Mason wasn't originally the idea, but after thinking about it while writing Chapter 19, I'm really happy with my final decision.

4 - Narration and dialogue improved.

5 - Diction enhanced.

6 - _The universe is a better place._

* * *

That's pretty much it. I know these changes are a lot smaller in size, but a big reason for that is because I'd otherwise be posting some spoilers unintentionally within the Changelog. That being said, for any of you OG's here, you guys definitely know this is a huge adjustment from the original, despite the source content remaining mostly the same.

Welp, I'mma log off here. It's currently November 22nd (THANKSGIVING AYY), 7:20 PM for me as I type this (chapter probably comes out later due to last-minute edits from others). Had a lot of fun with this chapter, but I'mma hold off on Chapter 21's rewrite until I can get the Interlogues of Hank's Legacy (at least mostly) done.

We hope you enjoyed this rewritten chapter of Final Salvation! Have a great break guys! :D

~ Spirit


	21. Sleeping Dogs Stir (Part I)

Chapter 21: Sleeping Dogs Stir (Part I)

* * *

For the first time in Hank's life, someone else shifted right beside him in bed. The strands of blonde hair in the messy aftermath of a contouring bob peeking just underneath the covers quickly reminded him of where he was and what he had done. Morning had come, and the walls of Cathy's bedroom reflected a turquoise glow from outside.

Hank reached for her shoulder; for five tenuous, indecisive seconds, his hand hovered a centimeter away. He sat up instead, mattress springs squeaked in protest as he carefully moved. The air felt fresher on his exposed figure once he was standing. He scavenged for the rest of his muggy clothes, each article haphazardly strewn around the room.

After thoroughly searching the floor, he found the last sock right under the bed. As he reached for the errant article, his fingers brushed against hard plastic.

It was the container, filled with those forbidden crumpled papers.

Cathy had successfully distracted him from the peculiar box, but there it was again. Hank found that last night's events had strengthened his unwelcome curiosity.

Hank glanced at the top of the mattress, where Cathy lay so quietly, even her breathing was inaudible. He looked back at the container, slowly lifting the top off as if it might hold a bomb. A slow pull later, the contents were exposed in all their glory. He opened one of the bent parchments, half-expecting a name and a confession to come with it.

He certainly wasn't expecting the word " **WHORE** ," written in large bold letters.

He placed the piece of paper back inside the box, picking up another.

" **Murderer-loving bitch,** " it read, in different sloppy handwriting and ink.

Without realizing it, Hank began trading one scrap of wrinkled hate mail for another, each time more noisily than the last. Based on the penmanship, each paper looked to be from a different sender..

" **BURN IN HELL,"** a third said.

" **LEAVE NEVADA."**

" **DIE, YOU CUNT."**

From one hand, the last letter slipped out and onto the floor beside him. The other balled up into a fist.

"Why are you looking through my stuff?"

Cathy's voice roused him and he looked up at her. She was sitting upright, one hand holding her blanket against her chest. There was a sternness to her look he had only seen twice before; once at Club M and the other from last night.

Hank stared back at her, unwavering. "How long has this been going on?"

Cathy's grip on her blanket tightened, creasing the fabric. "That's none of your business."

"I'm pretty sure it is."

"How?"

Hank raised the second piece of paper towards her. "'Murderer-loving bitch' is a pretty specific insult."

"Why are you looking through my stuff?" she repeated, her voice slightly louder.

"I was wondering if you had some past lovers bothering you." Hank crossed his arms. "Now are you going to answer _my_ question or not?"

"So you _are_ jealous!"

"I would much rather prefer jealousy over what I'm feeling right now, in all honesty."

Cathy looked away. "It's been going on ever since the article I first wrote about you guys."

"What?"

She drew back slightly at the venom underlining his tone. "Nothing's happened yet, so you don't have to worry."

"Did you go to the police?"

"No."

Hank cocked his head to the side. "Are you serious?"

"I didn't want to interfere what you guys had going for you," she protested. "If I got in the way of how you were cleaning up the gangs, I'd never be able to forgive myself."

Hank looked at the wall, as if hoping it could understand his exasperation. "And how am I supposed to feel if you get yourself killed?"

She went quiet. Hank rubbed at the nape of his neck with a hand.

"What about the paper you're working for? What are they doing about this?"

Cathy still didn't say a word.

"Catherine."

"I quit," Cathy said. "I didn't want to jeopardize anyone else working at the company. It was the safest option for everyone involved."

"Fuck." Hank stood up, feeling her eyes follow him as he leaned against the wall. "I knew this was going to happen."

"It was my choice."

"To do what? Ruin yourself?"

"To do the right thing!" Cathy was almost yelling now. "You need to do big things if you want to make big changes. You of all people should know that."

Hank glared at her. "If that's a pass at my track record, let me make it clear that I was roped into all that shit. Including these vigilante escapades."

"Well, I chose to do what I'm doing. And anything bad that comes from it is my fault, because it's _my_ choice. Not yours."

They stared at each other, Cathy defiant against Hank's glare. After a few seconds, Hank looked away. Inevitably, the container filled with messy letters caught his attention again.

"Why would you store your hate mail?"

"I use it to motivate myself as much as fan mail… which I don't get much of, granted." Just as her expression softened, it steeled back up. "When you're faced with hatred, you can either let it dissuade you, or you can use it as a fuel to become a stronger person."

"You're going to burn yourself," Hank murmured.

He closed the box, and silence separated them again.

"I never really went into a relationship, by the way." Cathy shrugged. "There were a few guys who seemed interested, but I just couldn't do it. There was so much going on and I didn't want to drag anyone down with me."

"So you decided to date a mass murderer instead?"

"Geez, it's almost like you're _trying_ to get me to break up with you."

Hank said nothing. Cathy's smile faded.

"You… weren't actually trying to, right?"

"I had good reasons. And still do," Hank said, turning away. "You wanted to know more about me, right?"

Cathy sat straighter. "Yes."

He stared at the room's sole window. The morning's bright light was now pouring in, casting shadows of the droplets still stuck on the glass from last night's storm.

"I grew up an orphan. Most people didn't want kids in the piss-poor parts of Nevada, and the orphanage was big enough for anyone that did and regretted it."

"You mean the local orphanage?" Cathy interrupted. "The abandoned one near that high school?"

Hank nodded as he sat down. "That one. Despite the times, Julia, the woman who ran the place, did her best to take care of everyone. All I thought she was was my caretaker, until the day I met my father in a prison cell."

"What was he like?" Cathy asked quietly.

"Darren Wimbleton was a piece of shit drug and arms dealer, more run-down than the orphanage," Hank said, eyes strained. "Our warm reunion consisted of him telling me he killed my mother because she didn't want to abort their unplanned pregnancy. Then, he tried to make a run for it and took a bullet to the head. And a little while after that, the orphanage burned down."

"Wait- huh?!"

"Sheriff wanted me dead." Hank put on his other sock. "The kids and the other caretakers were safe, but Julia died. A guy from the Anti-AAHW said they had a way to bring her back. They proved it. All I had to do was sign my life away to make it happen."

Cathy's face paled. "What do you mean by, 'bring her back?'"

Hank looked at her before promptly shaking his head. "Forget it."

"No, it's just that... Deimos did mention something about your magical bosses."

"I'm going to smash that kid's head into a wall." Hank's fist tightened again. "Yeah. 'The Higher Powers,' as they pretentiously called themselves. They were having some sort of family feud with The Auditor. I don't understand it myself and I don't see any reason to. All you need to know is, as stupid as it sounds, they resurrected Julia if I fought the War. So I did. Sorry I'm not much of a storyteller."

"I mean, well..." Cathy trailed off. "Can I ask you one more thing?"

Hank shrugged. "Might as well."

"What's it like to… come back?"

Hank looked at her. "That's worse than asking me what it was like to kill someone."

"I'm just worried too, okay?"

A moment of silence, similar to their first talk on the park bench, held. Hank looked back at the ground.

"Imagine you're under a nice, warm blanket, on a morning dead in the middle of winter. Then, some asshole decides to yank you off your bed and pour freezing-cold water all over you. Now, multiply that sensation by a hundred."

Cathy remained quiet. Hank stood back up.

"Catherine. The point is, you've involved yourself with someone who can destroy everything you have without lifting a finger." He pulled out his phone from his jeans, pressing down on the power button. "The sooner you get over this ridiculous fantasy-"

"Hank."

He turned to Cathy last time. She stared back at him, her eyes reflecting sadness and brimming confidence.

"I love you."

The words to answer her couldn't reach Hank's lips. Involuntarily, he looked back down at his phone, fiddling with the unresponsive power button some more.

"Shit," he muttered.

"Is your phone dead?" she asked.

"Yeah," Hank replied. "I need to call those two idiots before they start pestering me with questions."

"Oh!" Cathy's face lit up. "Why not use the cellphone I gave you?"

Hank pocketed his useless device. "Honestly, I think I should just head back and pretend like nothing happened. Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine. I don't think anyone's been after me since I stopped publishing articles."

"I meant your job."

"I can manage."

His stare said he wasn't reassured. Cathy sighed.

"Look, if anything happens, I'll call you, okay?" She put on the most genuine smile she could muster. "You can even set up that phone on your way back so we're always connected."

"Alright. Screaming out the window works too. I know you have the lungs for it, judging from last night."

Hank felt a pillow bop the back of his head. He looked at Cathy, who was already armed with another case.

"LEAVE!" she hissed, face red.

With a grin, he walked out just as second pillow hit the wall behind him. Cathy laughed once he was gone, not noticing her tears until they trickled off her chin.

* * *

"Deimos?" Sanford asked.

"Mhm," Deimos replied, sitting on the couch with his back turned from his partner.

"How long have you been sitting there for?"

The hacker looked up from his phone. Bones cracked in his neck as he turned to look at Sanford with bloodshot eyes.

"Oh, not very long."

"Right." Sanford groaned as he stretched his arms behind his back. "You shouldn't be losing sleep like that. Hank'll be fine. I'm sure-"

"He won, Sanford."

"Huh?"

"He got _laid_." Deimos stared blankly in front of him. "Hank lost his virginity before I did. Fucking... _Hank._ I knew from the moment the clock struck midnight and he didn't come back."

"Should have known it'd be over something stupid," Sanford muttered. He scratched the back of his head before raising his voice to a normal level. "Look, maybe he slept alone at a hotel or something, I don't know man. Last night's storm was pretty nasty."

"No, you don't understand!" Deimos grabbed at Sanford's shoulders. "I _sensed_ it in the air! It hit me like a prophecy from God! Like... Morse Code Intercourse! Conception Perception! Sex Hex! Coitus-!"

"Honestly, Deimos. Is there really anything wrong with being a virgin at 22?"

"AHH!"

As if he was just stabbed in the back by a knife, Deimos collapsed, grabbing at Sanford's ankles from the ground.

Sanford rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Look at it this way, I'm a virgin too. We're on the same boat."

"THE GAYEST KIND OF BOAT!"

"I'm gonna knee your nose, you little-"

A click from the front door interrupted Sanford. Deimos shot up to his feet just as Hank stepped into the house.

"So," Sanford broke the silence, "Where have you been?"

"As flattered as I am for you caring so much, you're my maid, not my mother," Hank deflected.

"Well, don't flatter yourself. I was only worried you ended up committing assault and ruining all our hard work. Frankly, you being gone made my life easier," Sanford pointed to his partner. "Him, on the other hand…"

"HANK!" Deimos lunged forward, grabbing at Hank's shoulders. "Did you do it?! Did you really do it?!"

"Do what?" Hank replied in monotone.

"HER!"

"No. Now step aside." Hank brushed Deimos's hands off as he walked past him. "I need to take a shower-"

"LIAR!" Deimos fell back down to the ground on his chest, grabbing at Hank's ankles. "I know that aura! That's the aura of a boy becoming a man! I can practically _smell_ the pheromones on you!"

"Deimos, if you don't let go _right now_ , I'm actually going to smash your head into a wall."

"NO! NOT UNTIL YOU ADMIT IT!" Deimos held his grip as Hank tried pushing him by the head with the sole of one foot. "ADMIT IT, YOU LIA-!"

A small, silver square fluttered from Hank's back pocket and onto the floor. Deimos let go of Hank's legs and scrambled for the piece of garbage on the ground.

"No…" Deimos whispered as he slowly raised it. "NO."

The opened packet slipped from his hands as he fell on all fours. "NOOOOOOOO!"

Sanford picked it up as Deimos continued hollering in the background. He jutted out his lower lip, giving Hank an approving nod.

"Well," Sanford began, "it's nice to know you're playing it safe."

"That's not mine," Hank said.

"Then who used it? Her?"

"Yes."

"This is for males."

"I am aware."

Sanford lowered his glasses. "I hope you're just really bad at lying on the spot, or you didn't get my joke."

"You choose."

Deimos stopped yelling, taking deep breaths between heaves. "Once I got laid, I had a whole spreadsheet of roasts I was gonna use on your virgin ass too. It's all worthless now, damn it..."

"Are you done?" Hank asked.

"How was it?!" Deimos grabbed at Hank's sides with inhuman speed and force. "What positions did you take?! Doggystyle?! Reverse cowgirl?! Or did you go for _missionary_?!"

Sanford sniggered, causing Hank to turn around. Deimos pulled Hank in until their faces were only a few centimeters separated.

"LOOK AT ME!" Fire burned in the hacker's bloodshot eyes as he spoke in rapid-fire, breathing heavily. "TELL ME WHAT EVERY FOLLICLE OF HAIR ON YOUR BODY WAS DOING LAST NIGH-!"

In one swift motion, Hank grabbed Deimos's hair and smashed the techie's face into the wall on his right.

"I see the 'wall slam' technique's made a reappearance," Sanford said as he watched Deimos slide down to the ground.

"That special lesson wasn't just for his twisted attitude. Kid's been running his mouth way too much." Hank turned to Sanford. "You feel like contributing in a similar fashion?"

"... I'd rather not break any more walls in the house. Because I know I'm the one who's gonna end up fixing them."

"Good call," Hank spoke just as a generic ringtone emanated from his pocket. He pulled out the cellphone Cathy gifted him. "Speaking of which…"

"Is that a new phone?" Sanford asked.

"Cathy's present. And yes, I already know I have one." Hank activated his phone with the touchscreen, pressing it against his ear. "Who is this?"

" _Hey, Hank!"_

"Catherine?"

" _Yep! I'm calling because you left your wallet at my place."_

Hank felt for his pockets, grimacing. "Shit."

" _See? I told you."_ Cathy's voice paused on the line. _"Wait. By any chance, Sanford and Deimos aren't listening in on this, are they?"_

"They already know, Catherine."

The wince that escaped her lips made the blush on her face palpable. _"But… it's only been like, an hour."_

"You slipped a condom packet into my pocket."

Another pause. Now, Hank could hear her sulk.

" _Sorry."_

"It's fine. Listen, I'll be back for my wallet later. We can talk more then."

" _Okay. And Hank?"_

"Yeah?"

" _I love you."_

She hung up the call. Hank looked up to see Sanford's smirk return.

"Must've been some good sex, huh?"

"Keep talking like that and you'll end up like Deimos."

"Alright, alright. But for the record, you're supposed to tell a girl you love her back, when she says that."

"The day you'll hear me say those words to Catherine is the day we die."

Sanford's pocket was now vibrating.

"Is she calling _you_ now?" Hank asked.

"No," Sanford replied as he read the caller ID to himself. "It's Augustus."

"Augustus? What the hell does he-?"

Sanford brought his phone to his ear, while raising a hand to silence Hank. "Hello? Yeah, this is Sanford. Yeah, Deimos was busy being… unconscious to answer your calls. Don't ask."

Hank crossed his arms. "Put it on speakerphone and tell him-"

"Shh! I know!" Sanford hushed as he covered the phone's mic with a hand. "Just give me a second."

As Hank felt an eye involuntarily twitch, Sanford returned to his call.

"Look, Augustus. As much as we appreciate your enthusiasm and support, we're not interested in any more deals, especially while the police are too busy to work with us. That being said, we're going to-"

The few seconds of more unintelligible gibberish that came from the other end of the call paused Sanford. It also proved to be enough to make his eyes widen.

"What? What's he saying?" Hank asked.

Sanford handed him the phone, face slightly pale. "I think you should talk to him."

Hank's glare became narrow-eyed. He snatched the phone out of his hand.

"Augustus," Hank said quietly.

" _Hello, Hank. Any interesting developments in your life?"_

"I don't know what you told Sanford, but the bottom line is that we're through. Understand?"

" _Now, now, there's no need to turn to a heart-shattering breakup just yet. I personally believe you should hear what I have to say first, considering how closely it affects your social circle."_

Hank snorted mirthlessly. "And what could you possibly know that would change my mind?"

" _Did you know that the police chief's daughter has gone missing?"_

Hank went quiet. He looked at Sanford, face still drained of color, before turning back to his call.

"Why would that matter to us?"

" _Don't play dumb, Hank. I know the Chief gives you the names of the gangs I feed you information on. You paused... I was right on the money, wasn't I?"_

"How would you know?"

" _It's quite simple, really. Chief Harley hasn't made a public appearance for quite a while. Coincidentally, this window of time is also the same one where you three haven't shown up to Langstone's."_

"No." Hank's voice grew stern. "I'm asking why would you know whether or not his daughter was kidnapped."

" _My influence reaches far beyond the realm of Dead Nevada, Hank. A single slip-up was all I needed to know who was responsible for the kidnapping. Now, if my hunch is true, you don't have a lot of time before something drastic happens to her… if it hasn't happened already. Consider yourselves grateful that I contacted you all so early in the day."_

Hank could hear the grin on his face. His grip on the phone tightened.

"We'll be there in an hour."

" _Wonderful. As always, it's a pleasure doing business with you."_

Augustus' voice was gone, a dial tone in its stead. Hank tossed the phone back to Sanford, an almost exhausted look on his face as he did so.

"What do you think?" Sanford asked.

"I think I want to put a round through his head. Preferably something big," Hank said. "As much as I'd hate to admit it, his explanation covers why Harley's been awfully quiet."

"So you think he's telling the truth?"

"There's no way to know. But if this is some sort of prank, he's not going to do it again after I'm through with him." Hank looked down at Deimos's quiet form. "Is he dead again?"

"Nah. His skull's thick enough to take that hit." Sanford nudged Deimos's side with his foot. "Out like a rock, though."

"Then grab the cash and get ready. We're meeting Augustus in an hour."

"And what about Rockmos over here?"

With a single hand, Hank hoisted Deimos by his shirt and tossed the techie onto the couch.

"Position..." the hacker groaned after he landed on the furniture.

"There," Hank said. "He'll wake up before we're heading out. Otherwise, he's going to be Dedmos."

"M'kay. Anything else Augustus mentioned worth noting?"

"He also said he loves ya. Must've been some good sex, huh, Sanford?"

"Eat shit."

* * *

(Original) A/N: Not bad. I needed this chapter though, to fill in the blanks from Chapter 20. Also, I made this today only because IT'S MADNESS DAY BABY! WOOHOO!

For those of you who don't know what Madness Day is, you need to get your Madness Combat-Facts in order. Madness Day takes place every September the 22nd, where users submit their Madness related games, fan-art, and ultra-epic, non-canon Madness Combat movies. Best of all, Krinkels uploads his annual Madness Combat episodes on Newgrounds every Madness Day, and I'm also expecting some updates on his game (which is in the featured games' list on Newgrounds's homepage) Madness: Project Nexus.

So far, it's 9:30 for me, and I'm still waiting anxiously for Krinkels's epic continuation of the cliffhanger he left all of us off with in Madness Combat 10. I'm a bit disappointed I still can't find anything from him, but I bet it will be coming soon! Like, maybe 2 or 3 days later at most. But no worries. It's incredibly, INCREDBILY, hard to make a Madness Combat movie out of Adobe Flash, so I ain't bitchin'. Ah well. At least I got to update on the only holiday Madness Combat celebrates.

Well, that's all folks. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Kagami, thanks for inspiring me to continue today, and I'm satisfied with how this story is going so far. I am currently thinking about your crossover idea, and I am a Naruto fan as well, so things can go as planned. So far, I'm thinking about doing it when Naruto's still 12 and not in Shippuden (since I have more knowledge of the Naruto before Shippuden than after because of all the new episodes still running). But not right now. Gotta focus on this first. And then, let's go.

Also, Invader, thanks for reviewing again! I'm not upset at all, and I appreciate it that you came back again! Thanks to you too dude, and happy Madness Day to both of ya!

You guys, and I mean all of you, are the best crowd any fanfiction-writer can have, and I hope you all enjoy this piece! I'm putting all the effort I can here, and I'm always watching on whether or not people like this so far, so keep showing your colors! You guys are awesome!

Later, and check out Newgrounds for your healthy dosage of Ultra-Violence via Madness Combat. Happy Madness Day!

~Spirit9871

* * *

(New) A/N: As short as this chapter originally was, the original was pretty much illegible. I basically worked the whole thing from the ground up; it was the only possible treatment I could do in this case. Massive changes have been made here and I'm sure anyone who's followed the original knows this for a fact.

Let's get to those now, shall we?

* * *

 _ **Changelog:**_

1 - Chapter title changed from "Surprises and Broken Secrets" to "Sleeping Dogs Stir." Less on-the-nose and shorter (shorter titles usually tend to have more impact)

2 - Hank and Cathy's conversations vastly changed. The original seemed to miss massive opportunities I'm glad I'm able to put in now.

3 - Deimos is more mortified and envious (to a somewhat creepy degree) rather than joking about Hank getting to fourth base, while Hank is a lot less flustered. It just makes more sense that way (being 14 sucked when it came to writing relationships…)

4 - Morse Code Intercourse. I'm proud enough of that one to leave it as its own point.

5 - Rockmos and Dedmos. Nothing like forcing Madness 2019 memes into your fanfics.

6 - Grammatical errors removed.

7 - Narration and dialogue improved.

8 - Diction enhanced.

9 - The _universe is a better place._

* * *

Changelog done. Now to address the elephants in the room.

 **First and most importantly, MADNESS 11.** Yes, I did indeed watch it and I have to say, I have never been screaming harder my entire life for something Madness-related. The combat was incredible and the animation did not disappoint for sure. Nobody in their right mind is going to say Madness 11 was a boring installment; six years later, and Krinkels did deliver. My favorite part was the riot shield combat with Sanford and the mini Trickys. The choreography was fantastic and believable (or at least, as believable as Madness Combat animations can get).

I will say however, I am a bit bummed out that Madness 11 seemed to have a continuity error with normality no longer being restored. As deathdefier (one of my readers and a good friend I'm working with) put it, normality no longer being restored kinda defeats Jebus's sacrifice in Madness 8. Might be wrong though; maybe there's a reason for the lighting bolts to suddenly stop after Tricky was absorbed? Dunno.

Point is (and I'll probably repeat this in the next Author's Note of Hank's Legacy), Madness Combat 11's story can be integrated into the fanon we've set up here. However, I'm not sure if I can say the same beyond Madness 11; I doubt I'm willing to wait another half-decade for the next installment, but let's hope we won't have to go down the dreaded "Alternate Universe" path.

On that note, if you want some more Madness Combat readings, go read deathdefier's " **Tale of Two Hanks"** and Dark Madness Dragon's **"Return Tripping"!** Yes, both stories are canon with my storyline, and the former even takes place a little after Final Salvation's last chapter! You can easily find the stories under my Favorites on my profile (or you know, just look it up like any other normal human being)! Leave them some faves, follows, and reviews too while you're at it; I've edited their stories with them and I can safely say they worked hard and deserve a lot of love!

And that's basically it. Beyond that, I'm back in college and I'm planning on getting my Bachelor's by the end of this year. I'll still be around, no worries. Turns out college isn't as bad as I thought it'd be on my schedule (can't say the same for Alias though, considering he's in Ivy League).

Hope you guys enjoyed this rewritten installment of Final Salvation! It's currently Saturday, February 9th, 2019 at 2:04 PM as I'm about to hand off this chapter to my editors to review.

Thanks for reading! See you next time! :D

~Spirit


	22. Sleeping Dogs Stir (Part II)

Chapter 22: Sleeping Dogs Stir (Part II)

* * *

"Are we really doing this?" Deimos asked from the backseat of the car. "Are you _really_ sure?"

The familiar decrepit buildings of Dead Nevada rolled past them as they drove. The streets themselves, however, were more barren than usual. Where curious, terrified, and angered faces used to peer from the dark, only rats scurried between filthy alleyways.

"Yes, Deimos. For the hundredth time," Sanford replied from right beside the hacker. "The deal's off with Augustus and that's final."

"B-but, what about the Chief? Maybe we should talk to him first before-"

Deimos yelped as one of the many potholes in the road sent his head into the seat in front of him.

"We are _not_ stalling this any longer than we already have," Hank said from behind the steering wheel. "If you're going to try something Deimos, then I'll turn this thing around and knock you out again."

"Okay, jeez." Deimos ruefully rubbed at his still-sore forehead. "I only thought since we were doing such a good job cleaning up Nevada, it'd be a shame to kill the momentum."

"It's clean enough. If the police can't handle things from here, then they're too incompetent for our time." Hank pressed his foot against the brake pedal. "We're here."

The trio exited the vehicle, with Sanford holding onto the briefcase loaded with cash. Despite the unusual change of scenery around them, Langstone Bar remained unchanged. The grimy letters of the neon sign pointed out Langstone Bar to the returning guests. An obvious distraction yet ineffective distraction to the dilapidated red paint, chips as dark as old scabs bunched up against the wall. Inside, the bar was equally devoid of any vibrancy, with dirty brown walls and an oily floor.

Langstone stood behind the counter with bags beneath his eyes. Combined with his aged figure, the lone bartender seemed ready to collapse at a moment's notice. Though the appearance of the three newcomers made Langstone scrub the glass cup in his hands a little harder, none of the patrons bothered looking up.

"Looks like nobody's running off anymore," Sanford whispered as his eyes roved the tables they passed.

"So?" Deimos spoke with less caution to the volume of his voice. He wrapped the palms of his hands around the back of his neck. "We're familiars now. How's that a bad thing?"

"Deimos, your naivety is the same reason why we're stuck in this mess in the first place," Hank said, spotting Augustus sitting behind the empty pool table. "Now keep your mouths shut."

Their informant looked up a few seconds after Hank had spotted him. He greeted them with his signature smile that was carefully designed to exude composure and confidence. Hank's expression did not respond in kind.

"Gentlemen," Augustus gestured to the back door. "In my office one last time, shall we?"

In silence, they followed him outside. The door shut behind them with a click.

"I want to take a moment to thank you three for the fantastic work you three have done. In good spirits, I would have served a bottle of champagne, but alas," Augustus lifted an empty beer bottle sticking out of a pile of trash. He shook it with a toothy grin. "I'm all out."

"Look, can we skip the formalities?" Sanford asked. "We're in a rush."

"Now, now. You can trust my pacing with these sorts of important affairs." Augustus's grin melted. "Unless you don't have the patience to listen?"

"Oh, Aug!" Deimos quickly interjected before another argument. "You know San and his _explosive_ personality! Always dying to blow shit up!"

"That's really something, coming from you…" Sanford murmured.

"'Aug,' huh? Didn't get the memo that we were close enough to be calling him by a nickname now," Hank added.

"Have your bitch-fits later!" Deimos whispered, but was still loud enough for Augustus to hear. "Can't you see I'm trying to hurry things up here?"

"Ahem," Augustus coughed, regaining everyone's attention again. "As I was originally saying, congratulations for reaching your tenth successful raid. I'm certain great changes will be coming to Nevada for your valiant efforts. Coincidentally, this _was_ the last raid I would have offered you three, even before you called."

"Glad we're both on the same page then." Hank looked at Deimos before cocking his head. "Pass him the map."

"Yeah, yeah," Deimos said, searching his pockets. "I got it."

After Deimos passed the map, Augustus unfolded the piece of parchment in front of himself. His index finger traced down the scaled neighborhoods, beyond the red markings of missions long past. It stopped at a barren patch of light green near the map's edge.

"Here," he tapped the spot twice, "is the Black Aces' roaming ground. Unfortunately, I cannot give you a credible headcount due to the hectic circumstances in obtaining this information. What I can tell you though, is that the factory located here used to produce explosives during the War."

"Hang on." Sanford perked up. "Did you say, _explosives_?"

"I did, yes."

"Still a demolitionist by heart, eh buddy?" Deimos smirked. "Getting a hard-on?"

"Knowing whether or not this mission will blow up in our faces is pretty damn useful, Deimos," Sanford said.

"But why ask if we can just go and _C4_ ourselves?" Deimos replied.

An awkward silence held as everyone stared at Deimos grinning ear to ear.

"What? You made a pun so I made one!" Deimos pouted. "And mine was more clever too, fuck you..."

Hank turned back to Augustus. "Are you sure this is where we're supposed to be heading?"

"Of course," Augustus replied. "After everything, are you still going to doubt my validity?"

"The map says nothing's even built out there," Hank reasoned. "Plus, that spot's outside the city. It just seems dumb to build your HQ _away_ from where all the action is."

"Precisely. The entire purpose of setting a base in an unmarked location, albeit inconvenient, is to guarantee the best chances of avoiding detection." Augustus looked at Deimos. "I don't believe I have to explain how reverse psychology works, correct?"

"The Chief's daughter," Sanford interjected. "Will we find her there?"

"No promises, but it's your best chance. And if my intuition serves me right, again, I suggest you head out as soon as possible."

"Then that's exactly what we'll do." Sanford passed him the briefcase. "Here."

"Oh, no need." Augustus raised a hand, pushing the bag back. "Keep the money. You'll probably need it more than I will."

Hank glared at him. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"To tell you three the truth, these under-the-table barterings of ours have benefitted me in numerous ways," Augustus said. "I'm a free man now. Getting this information was quite difficult, as it involved dealings with a vast collection of my old enemies. There's little left against me to truly live out my days."

"In other words, by giving us the info you've dug up, we cleaned up that plate for you through our raids, is that right?"

"And what's the issue, Hank? Nevada's a safer place, I'm a newer man, and you three are cleaner veterans in the eyes of the people."

"I just think it's a stupid idea if this was your grand scheme from the start. Most of those crime lords are probably going to pay their way out of their prison cells. Be prepared for the angry swarms when that happens."

"Ah, very true. But rest assured…" Augustus's grin spread a little wider as he trailed off. "Arrangements have been made to ensure the queen bees have been exterminated."

The trio remained silent. Augustus clasped his hands, his smile reverting back to its usual, less genuine form.

"So! Any other questions?" he asked.

"More like a statement," Hank answered. "I want to make clear to everyone here that after this, we're through with this shit. No more vigilante escapades, no more ganghunts with Harvey, and _especially_ no more deals with Augustus. If anyone fails to abide by these terms, they get kicked out of the house, got it?"

Sanford and Deimos both nodded, though the latter with less enthusiasm.

"Good. Now let's get the hell out of here," Hank said.

Sanford exited the alleyway first, followed by Deimos.

"Oh, and Hank," Augustus called out before Hank could step through the door, "If you ever want to see me, you'll know exactly where to find me."

"You won't be showing up even in my dreams." Hank stepped through the doorway. "So long, you pretentious street rat."

The door swung back shut, leaving Augustus alone yet again. Where sounds of yelling and other forms of human interaction echoed through the buildings, this time, only quiet remained.

"In your dreams, hm?" He chuckled. "I thought I already told you, my influence reaches far beyond Dead Nevada, Hank J. Wimbleton."

* * *

"Shit," Sanford lowered his cellphone from his ear as he sat shotgun. "He's still not picking up."

Behind the steering wheel, Hank kept his eyes focused on the road. "Sanford, I get that you're dying to call your boyfriend at the station, but could you get off your phone and make sure we're going the right way?"

"What are you talking about?" Sanford asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. "The Chief's still got to give us our equipment before the raid. And shouldn't you know where the station is by now?"

"We're not heading for the station."

Sanford cocked his head. "Huh?"

"You've got a gun on you, right?"

"I mean… Yeah?"

"Then you're ready."

"Hey!" Deimos stuck his head through the gap between the two front seats. "I thought we agreed to no killings!"

"We don't have time for this," Hank replied. "Tell you what. If they don't aim for me, I shoot them in the leg. If they do, I shoot them in the head. Fair?"

"No!" Deimos protested. "If we go back to whacking dudes, then we're also going right back to where we started!"

"They've got a hostage and Harley's been ignoring our calls," Hank reminded him. "If we end up needing body bags, it'll be his fault."

Sanford placed a hand under his chin in contemplation. "Actually, I think I agree."

"Not you too, San!"

"Deimos, if we're serious about saving someone's life, we're probably going to have to spill some blood," Sanford added. "Plus, this is the Chief's _daughter_ we're talking about. All things considered, I think he wouldn't mind us wasting a few bodies."

Their words left Deimos staring blankly at the car's dashboard. He slowly laid back onto his seat.

"Deimos?" Sanford called. "You okay?"

"Everything feels like it's falling apart." Deimos looked off to his side. "We had this plan and all, but now we're just going off the rails."

"Grow up," Hank said.

"The fuck is your problem, huh?!"

"Relax!" Sanford glared back at Deimos as the techie sprung out of his seat. He turned to Hank after Deimos sat back down. "I'm sure we're all just stressed again from the strange changes. Especially Hank."

" _Especially_ me?"

"Yes. All our new contacts are all over the place and you have Cathy added to your plate. Besides, you must've noticed it too." Sanford turned back to his front. "How quiet Dead Nevada was."

The only sound that came from the car was the hum of its engine. Hank rubbed his thumbs against the rough rubber of the steering wheel, carefully feeling every bump and crease. It did little to ease his nerves.

"Deimos." Hank saw his sulking housemate in the rearview mirror. "Are you armed?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's get this over with."

* * *

The sun had reached its highest point in the sky. Waves of heat danced across the barren plains, dissipating droplets of dew and rainwater on the grass from last night's storm. Three pairs of feet crunched wet dirt and rocks as they passed by, the third of which groaned behind the other two.

"Couldn't you have parked _closer_ to the target?" Deimos fanned a hand towards himself. "Fuck, it's humid."

"We'd be spotted in seconds if we did. There's nothing but wet weeds around here," Sanford said as he walked in front of his partner. "How are you already tired? It's only been a few miles."

"You know, it's not easy doing a hike after being knocked unconscious!" Deimos argued. "All this heat's making my head spin too."

"Said it before and I'll say it again. You've grown soft," Hank added from the front of the group. "Just don't slow us down."

"And whose fault would that be if I do…" Deimos muttered under his breath.

Hank raised a fist to his side, stopping Sanford and Deimos in their tracks. He slightly turned his head behind him as he crouched.

"This should be it. Stay low."

The two men positioned themselves by each of his sides. About a hundred meters in front of them stood the old factory, in a degree of disrepair similar to Dead Nevada's buildings. It was impossible to see anything inside, especially with no light peering through the dirty windows. Sand surrounded the outer perimeter of the establishment, drawing a circular border for where the grass stopped growing.

Sanford faced Hank. "Alright, now what?"

"Considering the circumstances, we'll need to get a better read on the situation," Hank answered as he continued to stare at the abandoned plant. "Let's split up to cover the most ground."

"Oh, oh!" Deimos waved his cellphone. "Why don't we call each other while we do it?"

Sanford nodded. "Good thinking. Just be sure to keep your phones on vibrate."

"Deimos, you go around the back," Hank ordered. "Sanford, close in on the entrance. I'll stay here and keep watch of the general area. Let's move."

They swiftly dispersed, pistols at ready. Deimos rounded the left as he ran with a hunched back, while Sanford crawled his way to the right. Once both had stopped moving, Sanford felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket.

He flipped it open. "Yo."

" _Hey, Sanford,"_ a voice other than Deimos's spoke. _"Let me start by apologizing for not taking your calls. Things have been-"_

"Wait- Chief?!" Sanford did a double-take. " _You're_ calling?!"

" _I am. Sorry, is this a bad time?"_

"Sorta…" Seeing Deimos waiting on the line, Sanford quickly jumped topics. "Anyways, why are you calling now?"

An audible sigh could be heard from the other end. _"I was planning on handling this in private, but at this point, you three deserve to know what I've been preoccupied with."_

"By any chance, does it have to do with your daughter?"

" _What?!"_ The Chief's characteristic vigor returned with his yell. _"How do you know?!"_

"Details later," he replied, feeling Deimos glare at him from across the field. "There's an abandoned explosives factory just outside the city. Meet us there, I have to hang up right now."

" _What factory?! Sanford-!"_

He hung up and switched over to Deimos's line.

"Deimos?"

" _What took you so long?"_ the techie murmured.

"Chief called."

" _Whoa, seriously?!"_

"Yeah. Long story short, Augustus was right. Let's get moving."

" _Aww. I wanted you to pick up first. Even had an epic message planned out for you and everything..."_

The proceeding silence helped get Deimos's hint across. Sanford sighed.

"Fine. What was that message?"

" _Hello sir,"_ Deimos began in the closest sexy female secretary imitation he could muster. _"This is the Beautiful Bastard Club, returning your call. Unfortunately, due to the exclusivity of our group, we cannot accept any Ugly Bastards at this time. Please try again later, when you've fixed your stiff lower lip."_

"Are you done?"

" _Yes,"_ Deimos continued in his secretary voice.

"Is Hank in this call?"

" _No."_

"Why."

" _Oh come on, who needs him?"_ Deimos returned back to his normal tone. _"We're doing all the work anyways!"_

"Deimos…"

" _Ugh, fine. Hang on."_

A few taps later, a _ping_ came through the call.

" _It's about damn time,"_ Hank's voice came through. _"I could see you two having your lovers' quarrel from way up here."_

"Sorry. Chief called."

" _And so did the Beautiful Bastard Club_ _."_ Deimos snickered. _"San got his application declined_ _."_

" _Sad thing is, I believe the latter call more than the former."_

"For the love of…" Sanford huffed. "Deimos, do you see anything inside the warehouse from your end, you little shit?"

" _Nope. Maybe they're out for lunch or somethin'?"_

" _I highly doubt that,"_ Hank said.

" _Well then, maybe it really is deserted!"_

"No. There's fresh footprints in the sand around the front. At least one person has to be in there."

" _FINE. Then they're jerking off in the corner or-!"_ A brief pause settled before Deimos spoke up again. _"Wait, I think I see something!"_

"What is it?"

" _I, uh… there's something definitely moving inside, but I can't really tell what. Looks like a bunch of blobs moving around."_

" _That's useful,"_ Hank quipped.

" _It's not my fault they decided not to clean their shitty windows!"_

"Stay focused. What can you make out of it?"

" _Uhh… there's two dark blobs that moved a brown one by the window."_

" _And how big are these 'blobs'?"_

" _Well, whatever's right up the window is definitely smaller than the blobs that moved it… hang on. Looks like the dark ones are heading off now, without the brown one."_

" _Sanford-"_

"I know." Sanford aimed his pistol towards the entranceway. "I'm ready when you are, Hank."

For the next few minutes, the call went dead silent. Amidst the nothingness, Deimos spoke up.

" _San? Do you see anything?"_

"No. What about your end?"

" _Nothing. Brown blob's still there, though."_

"Hank, what now?"

" _Move up to the side of the factory,"_ Hank said. _"Steer clear of any windows. Cut the call when you're ready."_

The other two men hung up in response. Per plan, all three closed the distance between themselves and the building within a few seconds, making little to no noise in the process. They reached their rendezvous point at the same time, circling towards the two large front doors. Hank raised three fingers with one hand, then two, then one.

 _WHAM!_

One heavy kick was all Hank needed to slam open the doors, nearly flinging them off their rusted hinges. Dust shimmered everywhere as rays of light flooded the sun-starved walls. The trio stormed in, with Hank watching the front, Sanford the left, and Deimos the right. Each pair of adrenaline-fueled eyes rapidly scanned their surroundings for the slightest sign of movement.

"Huh. Guess it really is deserted." Deimos lowered his aim. "Hello! Anybody home?!"

Sanford smacked the side of Deimos's arm with the butt of his pistol.

"Ow!" Deimos rubbed his bruised limb. "The hell was that for?!"

"Are you _trying_ to get us killed?!" Sanford whispered sternly.

"By what? Dust and tarps? Look around you!" Deimos gestured to the whole building. "If anyone was in here, we would have seen them by now!"

"Speaking of which," Hank said as he braced his weapon. "Contact."

In front of Hank sat a young woman on a rickety wooden chair. She was illuminated by dim light filtered through the cloudy window behind her, staring back at them with widened eyes and a cloth wrapped around her mouth. Hank took a step forward, only to stop as the floor beneath him creaked. While Hank looked down, Deimos rushed up to the hostage in his stead.

"That's gotta be her!" the techie yelled.

"She does have Harley's hair," Sanford commented as he saw the long wave of brown trail down the back of her head. "That must've been the 'brown blob' from earlier."

"Then where are the other two blobs?" Hank asked.

"Who cares? We'll deal with 'em later!" Deimos flipped out his combat knife. "This'll only take a sec!"

The brunette frantically shook her head, causing Deimos to hesitate.

"Poor girl's traumatized. Don't worry, ma'am." Deimos gave her a smile and a nod. "We're the good guys. Here, let me free up your hands first."

She shook her head again, motioning her pupils upwards as Deimos felt for her bounded wrists. Sanford's narrowed eyes widened as soon as he looked up.

"DEIMOS! STOP!"

"Oh, what now?" Deimos asked as he turned around. Instinctively, he followed Sanford's line of sight. "Weren't you and Hank in a hurrrr…?"

Hank looked to the ceiling last. Even his jaw dropped at the sight; sticks of C4 lined over their heads like roaches in a nest. Deimos ripped off the fabric wrapped around the hostage's mouth.

"BOMBS!" she immediately cried.

Sanford noticed the thin, taut string between the binding on the hostage's hands and the ceiling. It was barely visible under the room's horrible lighting. "This tripwire would've killed us all if you cut it!"

Hank yanked a nearby tarp off a small pile, revealing a stack of TNT and other old explosives greeting him. "You weren't kidding, Deimos. You nearly made us C4 ourselves."

The woman passed out. Deimos rolled his eyes.

"And let me guess," he spoke with scathing sarcasm, "this was gonna be my fault too, huh?"

"Yes!" Sanford and Hank replied in unison.

"Oh, go fuck yourselves! I couldn't have known!" Deimos pointed to the ceiling. "If you guys think you're so damn useful, then how about you defuse all those bombs up there?"

"We'd need every bomb squad in the country to handle something like this," Sanford said.

"Then we're stuck here. Great," Deimos crossed his arms. "I'm sure the Chief's gonna appreciate seeing us with his tied-up daughter, surrounded by a literal _ton_ of explosives."

"Hang on. The situation isn't _entirely_ hopeless." Sanford took another glance at the intricate trap. "If we can pull out her hands and replace them with something solid enough to keep the wire in place, we should be fine."

" _Should_ be fine?" Hank asked.

" _Will_ be fine. Better?" Sanford walked up to Hank and the freshly uncovered pile of incendiaries. "Hank, see if there's anything in there we can use. Maybe like, a bundle of TNT, or-"

"Done," Deimos said, carrying Melissa bridal-style with both arms and a proud grin. "You can thank and praise me later."

"'Done?' What do you mean, 'done'?!" Sanford exclaimed.

"I kept the string from moving and everything."

"With what?!"

"My knife," Deimos said matter-of-factly.

Sure enough as Sanford looked past Deimos, he saw the knife barely managing to keep the wire in place, the blade rubbing against the thin metal line. For the third time that day, Sanford felt the color leave his face.

"Run," was the only word the demolitionist could mutter.

"Huh?" Deimos asked.

"Just fucking run!" Sanford shouted, dashing past Hank. "And cover your ears, including hers!"

"You heard him," Hank followed Sanford. "Move it, Deimos!"

In a panic, Deimos sprinted after them, as he put on his noise-cancelling headphones. As they ran past the doorway, the knife behind them snapped the tripwire. The C4 hanging from the ceiling simultaneously lit up in angry, red glows.

"Sanford!" Deimos called out, still covering Melissa's ears as he was told. "Why are you running?!"

"We're not stopping until we clear at least a mile!" Sanford yelled back.

"A mile?! Wha-?!"

The factory erupted into a deafening ball of flames and debris. It's shockwave was enough to throw the three men onto the ground, dazing them temporarily.

"That's why you listen to the demolitionist," Hank commented as they turned around.

Melissa's eyes shot open as she screamed back to consciousness, taking all of Deimos's attention.

"Hey- relax!" the techie told her as she struggled. "You're alright now!"

Deimos failed to hear his partners' cries, both muffled against his headphones. Sanford tackled him to the ground instead, barely missing a massive flying heap of scrap metal headed straight for him.

"Sorry!" Deimos took off his headphones. "I couldn't hear you."

Sanford grabbed him by the collar. "Why did you hold down _thin wire_ with a _sharp knife_?! I told you what would happen if you cut it!"

"Well, what else was I supposed to use?!" Deimos countered. "My gun?!"

"Your brain would've been nice!"

Sirens from the distance silenced them. Of the three squadcars that arrived, Harley exited one of them, mouth agape in horror as he stared at the raging inferno.

"MELISSA!" he screamed.

"It's okay!" Deimos yelled back, hurrying towards Harley while carrying Melissa. "She's fine! We got her!"

As the techie passed the young woman from his arms to the chief's, Harley stared at her with as much shock as she was in. For a brief moment, Melissa's eyes slightly opened.

"... Dad?"

Her voice twisted something deep inside the officer. Harley embraced her tightly with both arms, breaking into tears as he felt her reassuring warmth.

"Melissa…" he whimpered as he kissed the side of her head. "Melissa, thank God. Thank God…"

The trio watched the reunion in silence. Harley acknowledged them as he pressed his daughter to his chest, gulping down sobs.

"Thank you," Harley whispered. "I'll never be able to repay any of you back for this."

"Actually," Hank intervened before either of his roommates could comment, "there is one thing."

"Anything within my power."

"We need to talk," Hank continued. "You, us, _and_ her."

Harley's grateful expression melted into shock. "Melissa needs to be in a hospital."

"You can put her in one _after_ our conversation," Hank added.

"What could possibly be so important that it can't wait?!" Harley exclaimed.

"Your daughter's life," Hank replied with constant firmness. "We nearly got blasted to the moon saving her. The sooner we talk this through, the less likely this will happen again."

Though there was some uneasiness on Sanford's and Deimos's faces, they didn't step in. Harley tightened his hold around Melissa as he realized she had fallen asleep.

"Chief," one of the lower officers walked up to Harley. "We've checked the immediate area. The place is deserted."

"Call the fire department. I've got to take care of something." Harley glared back at Hank. " _You're_ going to tell me how you knew my daughter was here."

* * *

The stay at Harley's house was as unsettling as the ride there. A clock ticked every unwelcome second above Deimos's head as he sat in a cushioned recliner. Behind the hacker, Sanford stood in the corner of the room, watching Harley sitting upright on his couch beside Melissa. The police chief brushed away a messy lock of hair from the front of her unconscious face.

"So, uh…" Deimos leaned back on the recliner. "Nice place you got here."

"Only because of her." Harley kept his focus on his daughter. "My wife isn't with us anymore, but Melissa always kept things clean when I couldn't."

"Your wife," Sanford spoke up. "Was it the War?"

"The War did make it hard to get quality medical care, but that wasn't really it," Harley said. "It was maternal death."

An old memory flashed back to Sanford as he went sullen. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for. Melissa keeps her mother's maiden name because my wife gave her life for our daughter's." A sad smile creased the corners of Harley's lips. "You saved the one person that keeps me going day after day."

As neither of the men gave Harley a response, Hank entered the room with his phone in hand.

"Looks like Harley isn't the only one ignoring our calls. Augustus isn't picking up." He tossed Sanford's phone back to him before cracking his knuckles. "If that bastard wants to talk in-person, then I'll be more than happy to oblige."

"Augustus…" Harley trailed off, remembering the trio's explanation on the drive back. "So that's the name of your informant?"

"Yep. Augustus Reeds," Deimos answered. "We paid really good money for his help. If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have found any of the gangs."

"I thought you guys found these criminals on your own." Harley frowned. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Hey, I might be good at getting juicy info, but I'm not _that_ good." Deimos reasoned. "Besides, if we told you our source was coming from a drunk dude at the back of a bar, would you still have believed in us?"

"Maybe not from the beginning, but definitely later." Harley rubbed the five o'clock shadow on the sides of his face. "The fact that this guy has intel SIN Police doesn't have on ten different gangs is worrying."

"My thoughts exactly," Hank agreed.

Harley sighed. "I'll look into this guy and give you any updates. But I'll need you three to be completely transparent with me from now on."

"From now on?" Sanford was the first to ask. "Sorry if you didn't hear us say it in the car, but we're done with the vigilante stuff."

"I know that, but..." Harley broke eye-contact. "As we worked together, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I'm sure we all agree you're all overqualified for the cleanup work you handled. None of you seem like bad guys, either. If anything, what you did today buried any of my doubts."

"Get on with it," Hank said.

Harley faced them, his expression stern.

"How would you three feel about joining the force?"

Both Sanford's and Deimos's jaws dropped. Hank scoffed.

"You're joking, right?"

"I'm not, Hank. From here on out, I want to work with you boys on equal, _legal_ terms. Paycheck included. The peace needs to hold if Nevada can have any hope of really repairing. If you work with me for a couple of years, with the connections I have, I can get you employed in other places. Even help start businesses, if you want." Harley's attention shifted to Deimos. "Deimos, you could help us with intelligence. Sanford, you have enough muscle and responsibility to make one hell of a SWAT officer. And Hank-"

"We are not interested," Hank responded in a low tone. "I don't want any involvement with the law. It's brought nothing but trouble and it's going to keep bringing trouble if we leave the door open."

Hank looked at both his housemates. " _Right_ , you two?"

As they remained silent, neither of the men faced him. Hank lowered his arms.

"You're not fucking serious."

"Sorry, but I want to think about it," Deimos said. "I don't know, bro. Thinking about us going back to doing… _nothing_ like three years ago scares me."

"I'm with Deimos on this one," Sanford added.

"Fuck you," Hank spat as he looked at Sanford. "What happened to all that talk about not wanting the house to burn down by next year?"

"I said I didn't want to work with Augustus anymore for the same reasons you had, but this is different," Sanford explained. "I don't like the idea of us lying around in our own filth for the rest of our lives, just waiting to die."

"Then that's going to be a problem." Hank marched towards Sanford until they were only separated by a foot. "We live under the same roof. Whatever you two morons do to jeopardize your house, jeopardizes _mine_."

"Hey, take it easy boys," Harley said. "You can take all the time you need to think about it, so-"

"We're not your slaves, Hank." Deimos spoke over the Chief as he stood. "Each of us has equal say on what to do. And right now, the vote is two to one."

The arguing stirred Melissa as she groaned. Harley rushed back to the couch by her side.

"Melissa!" He exclaimed. "Are you awake?"

"Mm, where...?"

"We're at home, baby," Harley answered before she could finish her question. "Everything's gonna be alright, don't worry."

Melissa sat up, vision blurred as her head slightly reeled. When her sight refocused, she recoiled at the three men surrounding the couch.

"We'll have this conversation later," Sanford told his housemates. He turned to Melissa. "It's okay. We're only here to ask you some questions. And then we'll leave you alone, promise."

His calm demeanor and voice soothed her nerves. On the other hand, seeing her father glare at Hank had the opposite effect.

"Make it quick," Harley said.

"How much do you remember?" Hank asked her.

Melissa shook her head. "Not much. Someone knocked me out on my way home. When I came to, I found myself tied up in that chair while they set up the explosives."

"Who was setting up the explosives?" Hank asked again.

"I don't know. They were wearing masks and it was really dark."

"What kind of masks?"

"Could you _please_ slow down?" Harley intervened. "She's just regained consciousness."

"Dad, it's okay." Melissa tugged at his arm. The smile she also gave him faded from her face. "The masks were glowing _blue_ from the center. Most of it was metal, but the glowing part looked transparent and it kinda looked like a sideways keyhole."

"You mean..." Deimos turned his phone towards her, its screen displaying a collection of images. "Like this?"

She nodded, slightly more awake now. "Yeah, like that! But, like I said, the center part wasn't yellow. It was blue."

"Are you sure it was blue?" Deimos asked.

"Yes, I'm certain."

"Why are you three worrying so much about a mask?" Harley asked.

"This mask's design was exclusively for Engineers who were a part of the Advanced Training Program in the AAHW," Sanford explained.

"Are you saying the AAHW kidnapped by daughter?!" Harley exclaimed. "That's ridiculous! The Agency collapsed years ago!"

"You're putting words in his mouth," Hank said. "Unless your daughter is colorblind, something isn't right. These masks always had _yellow_ glass on them."

"I could tell from their general shapes that the guys who took Melissa hostage were built, too." Deimos added. "Worst case scenario, they could be the remains of _Nexus_... Or these Engineers bleed blue, for some reason."

"Nexus?" Harley asked.

"Project Nexus was the final trace of AAHW we were assigned to take down after the War. As soon as we retired from Antithesis, we were immediately called up again because it was that major of a threat," Sanford said. "It's supposed to have been dismantled since then."

"And what about the motherfuckers that took my daughter? Where are they?"

The strange creak Hank heard as he walked into the factory returned to him. "I stepped over what sounded like wood while we were there. The girl distracted me from looking into it."

"So?" Deimos asked.

"The factory's floor was made of concrete, Deimos," Hank said. "Ever heard of a trapdoor?"

"Ohhh." Deimos lowered his head. "Yeah, they're long gone..."

"What..." Harley fell back on his seat, his face growing pale as he felt his strength leave him. "What are we dealing with here? An Agency resurgence? Or a team of merc, AAHW-wannabes?"

"We're dealing with somebody with good tools, AAHW or not." Hank glowered at the ground. "And they've got people who know what we're doing."

Harley's pocket vibrated. He pulled out his cellphone and immediately answered it.

"Clyde," Harley greeted. "What's going on? Was the factory fire taken care of?"

A few seconds of silence preceded Harley's shooting up to his feet. "Wait, what?! And you're _sure_ it's the right house?!"

"Is everything alright?" Sanford asked.

Harley pressed a hand over his phone's speaker as he turned to the trio. "I'm gonna have to give you guys another ride."

* * *

Hank, Sanford, and Deimos exited Harley's cruiser for a second time, eyes reflecting the large pile of orange they stared up at. Despite the trail of smoke they saw from the distance, they couldn't believe it until the truth was right in front of them:

Where the home they had known for three years once stood, only furious flames remained.

A massive, powerful spout of water from a nearby fire truck blasted the fiery walls, uselessly evaporating mere seconds later. Smoke flooded the sky above, emulating darkness as deep as night itself.

"Deimos, stop!" Sanford yelled as he pulled Deimos back. "Everything's gone!"

"NO!" Deimos screamed back, struggling against his partner's grip. "FUCK YOU! THIS IS NOT HAPPENING AGAIN!"

The loud crash in front of him said otherwise. Deimos surrendered his strength as everyone watched the mansion simplify into burning bits of ashy debris. He fell to his knees, grabbing at the dry soil in front of him with both hands.

"SEVEN TERABYYYYYYYYYTES!"

As Sanford patted Deimos's back, Harley walked up beside Hank.

"The call came in too late." Harley placed a hand on Hank's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Hank turned his head to the side, glancing at the mailbox illuminated by the fire. Saying nothing, he pulled himself away from Harley's reach and towards the only remnant of his home. A single, written note was tacked onto the mailbox's side.

Hank tore it off, bringing it closer to a readable distance:

" _Sweet dreams, Hank."_

He squashed the note in a balled fist, his nails tearing through the paper and pressing painfully into his palm. The veins in his hands rose under his skin as hot lava rushed through them in the form of blood.

Only the sounds of Deimos sobbing and Harley barking orders permeated the gloom.

* * *

(Original) A/N: Oh shit! There's gonna be some smack going downhill from here! Surprised? No? Well, I don't really expect you to. Like I said before, I gave a lot of hints about the plot. I hope it isn't spoiled for you just yet, because there's still a lot more twists coming up next!

By the way, I don't know why, but Krinkels still didn't make episode 11 of Madness Combat. I hope he's at least close to finished by now, otherwise we won't be seeing MC for a while. The good news is though, that Krinkels made a new Madness Combat Incident on Newgrounds called "Incident 101A". It's sorta not that awesome and epic in terms of Madness Combat, but God, you gotta love Cheshyre's music. It's probably better than snorting crack.

I'm a bit disappointed to see that some of my favorite Madness Combat Games aren't getting revamped, but I suppose more will be coming soon. They did add a couple of new movies today though, so that's a plus right there. Ah well. If any of you see Madness Combat 11 come out, then please let me know so. I love Madness Combat, there's no arguing it.

Anyways, thank you for reading Chapter 22 of this story. I hope you enjoyed this plot twist as well since I wanna give you the best MC fanfic you'll read for a while. If it's not that good, then I'm sorry. I'm doing my best to keep you all entertained and I will fix my flaws.

Thanks you guys, and keep reading!

P.S. I just found out that if you write some names with "Mister" in its abbreviated form, the name and the "Mister" actually disappears, which explains why it said "Good morning ." when Sanford "accused" Hank. This was a mistake on this site's part, and I hope they will notice that soon enough with their updates. Not complaining though, I ain't some bitch.

Chapter 23 will be up soon.

~Spirit9871

* * *

(New) A/N: "There's gonna be some smack going downhill from here." Why is it that reading my old Author's Notes makes me seem _older_ in the original? And yes, young Spirit. Madness Combat 11 is coming soon… 7 years from your time in fact.

(Cheshyre's music is still like snorting crack, though)

In any case, once again, MASSIVE changes for this chapter. I feel like a broken record, but this chapter I'm especially proud of with the rewrite for the adjustments it brought to the table. Let's get right to them:

* * *

 _ **Changelog:**_

1 - Chapter title changed to "Sleeping Dogs Stir (Part II)." I personally felt this chapter was originally too short, but after rewriting it to almost 6k words, I realize that may have not been required in the first place. For now, I'm planning on sticking with this chapter title, but I _may_ change it in the near future as a rare circumstance.

2 - Massive changes to Augustus's interactions with the main trio, especially Hank. It's gone as far as affecting the interactions _between_ our three stressed heroes. You know what's coming next, OG or not. _Sweet dreams._

3 - Another major reminder of Melissa being Harley's daughter. Again, Melissa originally had so little connection to any of the characters, it was hard to see her as anything but a throwaway. This change is one of my favorites and I'm proud with how it turned out here.

4 - Beautiful Bastard Club. Yes, the acronym was intentional. :)

5 - Massive changes to Melissa rescue sequence. We get to _C4 ourselves_ how Sanford's demolitionist title pops up and come into use.

6 - Added scene with Melissa being questioned. It just seemed to fit and make sense. Also helped a lot with the original chapter's pacing, as well as gave an opportunity for Harley to get a backstory.

7 - Harley's offer. Very important, believe me.

8 - SEVEN TERABYYYYYYYTES!

9 - Grammatical errors removed.

10 - Narration and dialogue improved.

11 - Diction enhanced.

12 - The _universe is a better place._

* * *

Those were the changes in a nutshell. Personally, my life's been going pretty well; managed to catch up with friends a lot more and I'm doing pretty well in school. I'm hoping to get my Bachelor's by the end of this year at this rate, meaning I'll be graduating a term early (yay)!

Apart from that, I want to give a special thanks to Sparrow from CRM. For those of you who don't know, CRM (abbreviation for "Conference Room of Madness") is the community Discord server I set up with Sacrom and other moderators for the sake of Madness fans from all walks of life. Since I've retired, Sparrow had taken up the mantle for a few years before passing it over to the next Owner. Here's my salute to you, Sparrow; thanks for everything. :)

Lastly, go check out **Madness Bloodlust** by Quentin3655! I'm surprised I didn't mention it in the Author's Note of the last chapter, but better late than never! If you're a big fan of ultraviolence and high-paced action in my fanfics, you'll absolutely LOVE Bloodlust! Quentin's worked really hard on it, so give the guy some love!

Alrighty, that's pretty much it. No, really. My life's been pretty boring these days, but I honestly prefer that than whatever stress-filled hell I was stuck in for the last 6 years of my life, haha. I'm thinking I'll be helping Alias and Sacrom out on their extra chapters for Hank's Legacy in the meantime; it's about time we got the ball rolling for HL.

You guys have been incredibly supportive for these past few months. I've seen the viewcounts for both the Salvation Rewrite and Hank's Legacy, and all I can say is thank you so much. I still stand by my promise of delivering a full, epic saga for you all as gratitude for the amazing love you've given my works and I. Your support has not gone unnoticed and unappreciated.

We hope you enjoyed this chapter of the FS Rewrite! It is currently Friday, March 1st, 2019 at 1:08 AM as I'm gonna hand off this chapter for editing. (For the record, I'm just keeping exact timestamps to track how long it's been taking me to upload these chapters)

See you next chapter! Stay warm!

~Spirit


	23. Old Faces

Chapter 23: Old Faces

* * *

Yet again, Hank found himself standing in front of Langstone Bar, except this time, the door was stubborn. A single sign, held by a rickety tack against the old wood of the entranceway, blockaded him:

" _Sorry, we're closed!"_

Staring at the sign didn't seem to change its text. Involuntarily, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Fuck!" Hank yelled as he kicked the door with the tip of his right boot.

He looked around the neighborhood once more, expecting his outburst to at least generate some attention. The streets remained silent; not a single, curious head peeked out of a window or from the corner of an alleyway. With no other options, Hank stomped his way back to the empty car parked nearby.

"Um… Hank, sir?"

The vaguely familiar whisper made Hank turn around. He straightened out his back once he recognized the hooded man in the alleyway behind him.

"Langstone?"

"Shh!" The aged bartender raised two nervous hands as he sunk deeper into the shadows. "Your voice easily echoes through these streets! Turn around and pretend you're not talking to anyone, please!"

Hank slowly turned around, leaning his body against the front wall of the bar. He flipped out his phone, looking down at the blank screen.

"What are you doing here?" Hank asked.

"I waited for you to come back so we could talk," Langstone replied. "Are you alone?"

"Yes. But unless what you're telling me has something to do with Augustus, I'm not interested."

"It does."

Hank gripped the sides of his phone tightly. He quickly eased himself before he would crush the device in his hand.

"Talk."

* * *

"I hate this place," Deimos commented. He was splayed on the mattress as he stared up at the beige ceiling. "I hate this place _so_ much."

"Get used to it," Sanford said. "Odds are, we'll be sticking to rooms like these for the next few months."

"What do you mean 'get used to it?'" Deimos sat up. "The TV looks like something from the 80s, the walls look like vomit, and there's only ONE bed in this entire room! What, did you expect us to sleep horizontally, or something? And did you see that guy's face behind the counter when you asked?!"

"That's probably because he recognizes us from all those old Wanted posters."

"No! It's because he thought we were… you know!" Deimos's eyes widened. "Oh, God. Those rumors Cathy was talking about… they're gonna come back!"

"Relax. I'm getting us separate rooms later after I visit the bank. This was all I could get with the cash I had on me before our house burned down." Sanford pinched the bridge of his nose. "Christ… how is Antithesis going to sort out sending our cash now?"

"Speaking of sorting shit out, I'm gonna go take a depression dump." Deimos got off the bed before sulking. "My files…"

"You have my condolences over your lost mountain of naked cartoon girl pictures."

"IT WAS _ART_ , SANFORD! AND FOR THE RECORD, ONLY _HALF_ OF MY COLLECTION IS DRAWN!"

"Just go take your dump, you sick fuck."

After hearing the techie slam the bathroom door, Sanford sighed. Harley's offer swirled in his head again, only to be interrupted by Deimos squealing.

"SAN!"

"What?! What is it?!"

"THE TOILET!" Deimos smacked the door back open. "IT HAS A THINGY THAT CAN SPIT WATER UP YOUR BUTTHOLE!"

"... You mean a bidet?"

"A 'bidet.' _Holy_ _shit_." Deimos broke off his train of thought and refocused his attention on Sanford. "I take back everything I said about this place!"

And with that, Deimos shut the door again. A louder sigh escaped Sanford just as a knock came from the front door. Already expecting who it was, he immediately opened it.

"You're welcome for texting you the hotel room," Sanford greeted. He frowned as Hank walked past him. "It'd be really considerate of you to tell us where you're going with the car next time."

Hank sat down at the edge of the bed. Sanford raised an eyebrow.

"Where did you go, anyway?"

Hank replied by tossing a balled up piece of paper towards him. Sanford crossed his arms.

"Really," he muttered, unamused.

"Just read it," Hank said in equal terseness. "It's from Augustus."

Sanford did so, unraveling the crumpled note. He only needed a second to read the single, written line.

"You went to the bar, didn't you?"

"It was closed, but I met someone who told me some things we need to reflect on." Hank briefly glanced around the room. "Where's the other idiot?"

"He's playing with the bidet in the bathroom."

"Tell him to stop jerking off and get out here."

"You… don't know what a bidet is either, do you?"

With an irritated and impatient huff, Hank pushed himself off the bed, storming towards the bathroom. He forced the door open in one push.

"Hank?!" Deimos screeched.

"Get out."

"No, fuck off-AGH!"

Sanford watched as Deimos literally flew out of the bathroom, the techie's pants still down to his ankles. Deimos flipped onto his back, his face beet-red.

"You cocksucker!" Deimos yelled as he sloppily pulled his pants back up. "I barely had time to wipe my ass!"

Hank slammed the door hard enough to make his two roommates jolt. The door to the bathroom nearly snapped off its hinges.

Deimos sat in a pretzel. "What happened?"

"I ran into Langstone while I was looking for Augustus," Hank began.

* * *

" _Augustus… isn't a normal patron," Langstone said. "Nobody recognized him when he first started coming in, a little before you three started showing up. He always sat in the back, just_ watching _everyone without a word."_

" _I wanted details." Hank began to shift off the wall. "Not his memoir."_

" _No, wait! I swear it's relevant, so please!"_

" _Speed it up."_

" _My point was, it's strange! Everyone around these parts knows each other by a first-name basis, but then this guy comes along and nobody knows where he came from! And then… that's when people started disappearing_. _"_

" _Disappearing?"_

" _My regulars. I don't know if it was because of you three, but one-by-one, they just stopped showing up. And every time someone vanished, some other unrecognizable face took their seat. The last two regulars must have noticed the pattern, so they tried dragging Augustus out in the back alley. A few minutes later, Augustus came back in, and told me to check outside, and..."_

" _And?"_

 _Even without seeing him, Hank could sense Langstone violently shaking from behind._

" _The bodies…" the bartender continued in an unsteady voice. "They were_ unrecognizable. _"_

" _Why didn't you tell the police?"_

" _What good would it have done? They were going to kill me if I did, I'm sure of it!"_

 _Hank stayed quiet as Langstone recollected himself. After a small exhale, Langstone proceeded._

" _I heard very little from conversations between the new customers after that. They were talking about 'clearing the area,' but they never got into specifics while I was around. And now, nobody in the neighborhood is."_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _There isn't a single soul in Dead Nevada for_ miles _! It's like everybody just left after one night!"_

 _Hank had stopped staring at his phone by now. For the briefest moment, he thought he could feel his heart race a little faster._

" _Where is Augustus now?" Hank asked._

" _I don't know. A little while after you three were gone, he told me to close down shop and left with everyone else. I'm sorry, this is all I know."_

" _That little bitch." Hank pocketed his phone. "We're done here, then. Thanks."_

" _Hank?"_

 _In acknowledgment, Hank slightly turned his head behind._

" _Be careful._ _"_

* * *

By the time Hank was done with his recollection, Sanford and Deimos were both pale.

"What the fuck..." Deimos murmured. "So, all those guys we saw later at Langstone's… they were _working_ for Aug?"

"At best," Hank added. "For all we know, that bastard could have an entire army right under the city."

"Or, _in_ Dead Nevada," Sanford said. "That's why he wanted us to clear out all those gangs. Otherwise, the gangs would have been protecting their turf."

Deimos shook his head as he stared at the ground. "We were running straight into their hive the whole time…"

"We have to tell the Chief," Sanford suggested.

"And do what?" Hank spat. "Send the whole station down there to get slaughtered?"

"Even if each of those buildings housed three baddies, we would need to call the military for something like this." Deimos bit the nail on his left thumb. "If only I had my computer, damn it!"

"Well, what do we do, then?" Hank asked.

"I don't know," Deimos said.

"Of course you don't." Hank scoffed as he began pacing between the two far walls of the room. "You always have a goddamn strategy for throwing us into trouble, but not for getting us out of it."

"Look, I'm _sorry,_ okay?!" Deimos yelled back. "Can we not do this right now? I'm panicking just as much as you are, but you're making me even more nervous when you walk around like that!"

"Hank, just calm down," Sanford said.

"Fuck you." Hank pointed at him. "You guilt-tripped me into this stupid, gang-hunting idea Deimos had and this is exactly what I expected to happen. We landscaped the city for Augustus, we lost our home, and Catherine's getting death threats."

The last part killed the conversation. Hank pulled out his cellphone from one of his pockets and tossed it onto the bed.

"I'm taking a shower," he said, heading for the bathroom.

As soon as the door shut Deimos grabbed for Hank's phone.

Sanford raised an eyebrow. "Deimos, what are you doing?"

"I recognize this phone." Deimos fiddled with the back cover. "It's the one Cathy gave Hank as a gift, right?"

"So what?"

"There's something I want to check. And for Hank's sake, don't tell him. I'm serious."

"You have two minutes. Maybe less."

Deimos chuckled. "That's enough time, considering he hasn't set up a password."

The techie pulled out his own phone, placing it right beside Hank's. Just as the shower started in the bathroom, he began tapping away at both screens.

"Whatever you're doing, hurry up," Sanford whispered. "He could be taking a quick one."

"This isn't exactly a cakewalk, San!" Deimos replied in an equally quiet voice. He paused momentarily, grimacing. "Ah… shit."

"What?"

Deimos waved his partner off. "Shut up for a minute!"

Sanford bit his lower lip. A loud squeak came from the bathroom just before the sound of water running died down.

"Deimos, you're out of time!"

"Yeah, okay! I'm almost done too, wait a sec!"

Only the sounds of a towel being rubbed against hair and skin in the bathroom offered any reassurance to Sanford. When that stopped, the demolitionist's panic worsened.

"Deimos!"

"DONE!"

The techie capped Hank's phone, tossing it in front of himself. Just as it landed on the mattress, the door to the bathroom opened.

Hank walked out, fully clothed in the same combat gear he was wearing from before.

"What?" he asked as he saw Sanford staring back at him with wide eyes.

"Um…" Sanford trailed off.

"We were just talking about how adorable it is," Deimos said while he stared at his own phone.

"What is?"

"Your phone." Deimos nodded casually to the device. "You carried the phone Cathy gave you instead of your own, right?"

"That's because I left mine charging in the house. Which burned down."

"Oh, uh… right. Haha." Deimos grinned nervously.

"Why don't you call her?" Sanford switched topics. "Cathy, that is."

"Hey, that's a great idea!" Deimos said. "Maybe you could crash at her place too!"

After a short staring battle, Hank slowly picked up his phone. A few minutes after dialing her number, a no-response tone replied to him. He cut the call and turned to the other two.

"Go," Sanford said. "Take the car with you."

Wordlessly, Hank rushed out of the room. Sanford looked at Deimos once he was gone.

"Explain. Now."

"Hank's phone is bugged."

Sanford's jaw dropped. "What."

"Had a sneaking suspicion and this was the only time to check."

"Why didn't you tell him then, _before_ he ran off?!"

"Are you kidding? The dude was going to have a meltdown! I didn't want to make it any worse."

"As opposed to keeping the truth from him?!"

"Listen, there are a lot of factors I've considered!" Deimos raised his hands in defense. "First off, just because that phone's bugged, doesn't mean Cathy did it. With everything going on now, if I told Hank about the tracker while he's being all twitchy and she ends up not being guilty, how do you think that's going to turn out?"

"Then what did you do about it?"

"Simple." Deimos waved his own phone. "I reprogrammed it so that I'm tracking Hank too."

"You're an idiot."

"No, I'm not. I have a good feeling whoever installed that thing in there might give us a lead as to where to find Augustus. All this just seems too coincidental to let slide, so why not let them take the bait?"

"With the 'bait' being Hank?"

"You're damn right. Hank's literally the most capable person in the world right now for this. If he somehow gets himself into trouble, we can just swoop in and rescue team his ass."

Sanford shook his head. "I don't know, Deimos. I don't like this and I'm sure Hank wouldn't either. We just had a conversation about these crazy schemes of yours."

"Crazy plans get crazy results, San. And judging by this situation, we're gonna need a whole lot of crazy if we want to sort this out."

"Or to get ourselves killed?"

"Got any better ideas?"

* * *

"This is your fault."

When Hank told that to himself as he drove, he wasn't sure who it was directed to. Everyone was acting brave and tough when they didn't have the means to protect the things they cared about. Deimos shouldn't have come up with this stupid idea. Sanford shouldn't have supported it, going as far as to coerce Hank by humiliating himself. Catherine shouldn't have written all those articles to try and make people change their minds. She shouldn't have seduced him.

He shouldn't have fallen for it.

"This is _my_ fault."

His thoughts nearly made him miss the next turn. With one hand on the steering wheel, he speed-dialed her again. This time, Hank decided to leave a message after the automated tone.

"Catherine, pick up. Please."

His words didn't change the unresponsive result. As he closed his phone, Hank realized he had already stopped in front of Cathy's home. For some reason, her house seemed _more_ alien to him now than the first time around. The sensation made him rush towards the front door, trusty Beretta in hand. Hank's worst fears were realized as the door offered no resistance against his push.

"Catherine!" He yelled, hurrying faster into the house, eyes scanning his eerily clean surroundings. "Where are you?"

All was quiet. With each step past the front door and up the stairs, every possible horrible outcome flashed past his mind. By the time Hank reached the second floor, he was already emotionally drained. Only the half-ajar door to Cathy's room pushed him forward, far enough to walk inside.

Right by his feet, Cathy's familiar blanket was in a disheveled pile. As Hank stepped over it, he noticed the window to her room was left open. Her closet was exposed as well, with some of her clothes spilling onto the ground. Despite the unusual mess, no clues immediately presented themselves, forcing him deeper into the room. A single object at the center caught his attention. Hank recognized it as soon as he picked it up.

Catherine's phone. Hank's fingers tightened around it.

"Catherine…"

A small knock jolted him back to reality. In a swift motion, he pocketed the phone and braced his aim, wildly switching his line of sight around himself. Something was here; he trusted his hearing enough to believe it.

Two canisters hurtled through the open window, clattering onto the carpet. Hank tucked into a combat roll, diving over the ruined bed. It took another second for the canisters to explode.

Thick, gray plumes of smoke flooded the air. Visibility plummeted. Among the billowing clouds, two shadows slipped over the windowsill. By instinct and hearing alone, he fired two rounds towards the intruders. One of them screamed as he flopped to the ground.

A fully-automatic fusillade streaked by Hank's head, tearing the stuffing from the mattress. Spotting the muzzle flash, Hank vaulted over the bed frame, clearing the distance between himself and the assailant in half a second. Hank seized the searing-hot assault rifle barrel and tore the gun from the foe's grasp. The shadow grunted in pain as it wrested its broken finger free from the rifle's trigger guard. Hank sent the handle of his pistol crashing into the side of his foe's head.

At this distance, Hank could see the blurry outline of the nostalgic Engineer headgear- though, Hank realized, the visor was glowing blue rather than yellow.

"Where is she?!" Hank growled.

The unusual Engineer gave no response. Hank fired, shattering the mask, sending yellow bits of brain and skull splattering behind. A trail of blood befouled the pastel wallpaper as the corpse slid down the wall.

Violent coughs erupted from Hank's throat. Knowing his body, this couldn't have been ordinary smoke. As he tried to vault himself out of the window, another pair of feet from outside kicked his chest, pushing him back from fresh air.

Hank fired wild shots towards where he remembered the windows were. He ran towards the door, plowing through it with all his weight. Splinters blasted everywhere with his charge, momentarily stunning the two nearby Engineers waiting for him. Instantly reading his surroundings, Hank grabbed the Engineer behind him by the arm and shoved him towards the hostile in front. He fired two rounds in rapid succession, both hitting the heads of their targets.

A heavy blow to his back jarred the veteran. The following electric shock that coursed through his body made him drop his firearm.

But it wasn't enough to incapacitate him. With a quick twist of his waist, Hank drove his elbow towards the enemy that surprise attacked him, smashing the Engineer's skull between his arm and the wall. As Hank picked up his weapon, he felt his fingers tingling or going numb. Heavy breaths left his lips as his lungs were squeezing whatever noxious neurotoxins had invaded his body, but even that was getting harder to hear by the second.

Bullets pierced the door to Cathy's room and zipped right in front of Hank. The gas escaping the room forced him to jump off the second-floor railing and land on the first floor with a roll. Hank aimed back to the railing while taking a couple of steps back towards the front door. Once he saw the light-blue visor glow from the toxic mist above, his finger curled around his Beretta's trigger.

 _Beep._

Hank only managed to turn his head halfway before the wall behind him exploded. The blast knocked him off his feet and onto the ground. Though every active neuron in his head screamed, his paralyzed muscles failed to push him up. A boot forced him back down as another electric rod was pressed near his spine.

He was given one blurry glimpse of the platoon of blue Engineers before the boot smashed into his face.

* * *

"Holy shit."

Those were the words that escaped Deimos's mouth as he and Sanford remained fixated on their room's poor television set. On it, a breaking news report blared the title of its most recent story: "Missing Police Lieutenant Found Dead."

" _The body of Lieutenant Mason was found in the dumpster of this alleyway after SIN Police received an anonymous call identifying its location,"_ the female reporter said. _"Officials urge anyone with any information pertaining to this crime to come forward-"_

Sanford lowered the volume as he turned to Deimos. "We have to call Hank."

"Wait, why?" Deimos asked. "I mean, this is pretty messed up, yeah. But are we really gonna cockblock the sexy times he's probably having with Cathy right now?"

"Yes, we are." Sanford pointed back at the TV. "Judging by those shitty buildings, that body's in Dead Nevada. All of us should go and talk to the Chief as soon as possible."

"Oookay," Deimos trailed with uncertainty. He started tapping digits on his phone. "But if he gets pissed, you're dealing with it. Not me."

The techie pressed the phone to his ear. A few minutes of silence later, he lowered it.

"He's not picking up."

"Damn it, Hank…" Sanford shook his head. "Fine, we'll head over there without him. Where is that asshole, anyway?"

"Probably in Cathy's room. Like I said, sexy times."

"Just check with that tracker of yours."

"Yes, Mother." Deimos sarcastically replied as he sifted through his phone. A black minimap appeared on his screen, followed by a bright, red dot. Squinting his eyes, he gasped.

"Oh, fuck."

"What?"

"Remember when Hank said the bar was closed?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, it looks like Langstone opened up shop again." Deimos handed him his cellphone for proof. "And Hank's inside."

* * *

(Original) A/N: Sorry that chapter was a bit short, but I hoped you guys liked it! I will be uploading the next chapter as soon as I can to repay the favor.

Another epic cliffhanger! This was a pretty fast-paced chapter, but I think you guys can catch up with it. Thank you all for following this story! It really makes me happy to see that people actually appreciate my work!

I just found out that had recently made an archive for Madness Combat. No, I'm not talking about CountSheep's community. I'm actually talking about a real category like Sonic The Hedgehog or Naruto. Just go to Cartoons archive, then change the "Top 200" filter to "M" (for archives that start with M, since "Madness Combat begins with that letter, no shit), and you'll find it. I'm not sure whether or not I should change this story's category from Misc. Cartoons to Cartoons -Madness Combat because it could affect my view count and how readers can find my story. Nonetheless, if I do, then I promise to tell you guys about it. Still, there's only one story in that archive and that's by this guy who just recently joined. So I'm most likely gonna stay here instead of move. Not until I have quite a couple of stories up.

Anyways, back to what I like to call: "Reviewers' Credit" where I talk about the reviews I receive in the Review Column, regardless if it is from a guest or a real account user (I don't believe in guest discrimination).

Xenophobic, thanks dude! I really needed that information at some point! I'm using it for a big part in my story, and all credit for it will go to ya! Really appreciate it bro, and I hope you like this story!

Also, Invader's giving some really helpful intel on the MC series. Krinkels is almost ready with MC 11, so I can't wait! Thanks go to you too!

Read and Review you guys! Comments, concerns, questions; I'll answer them all as long as I'm still not retired!

Thanks, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Final Salvation!

~Spirit9871

P.S. It would be great if you guys can use real accounts instead of guest reviews. Why is because I can't respond to you personally if you use guest access. I could review you back via the Review Column, but it would mess up the count. Also, I'm responding to guest reviews in my Author's Notes at the end of each chapter, but if this story ends and you leave behind a guest review, I will most likely not be able to respond back to it. Just wanna give you guys a heads-up on that.

Later!

* * *

(New) A/N: So this was the chapter that started "Reviewers' Credits," huh? Have to say to this day, I thoroughly appreciate the idea. It's helped me meet and talk to a lot of you amazing folks reading and supporting my stories from 2012 to now. Also interesting to see my logic behind making Final Salvation under Misc. Cartoons instead of the actual Madness Combat category. Thinking about it now, I don't think it was an entirely wise decision, but then again, I didn't really know how FF worked back in 2012, so whatever.

You may have noticed/be surprised to see that I've updated Final Salvation almost immediately again. To tell you the truth, a large part of it is because this is my favorite segment of Final Salvation, so I really feel the momentum. Hopefully I'll be able to do justice with the rewrite though and you guys will see the effort I'm trying to put in a shorter amount of time.

(Don't worry about Hank's Legacy. I'm mostly just waiting for my co-writers to handle some things for now; ofc I haven't forgotten about HL).

Regarding Final Salvation, this chapter wasn't _as_ bad to rewrite. I liked how the original flowed, granted I'm not very happy with the execution (especially the original Hank-in-Cathy's-room part). Looking back, it was pretty stupid of me to think Hank would easily be knocked out from a blow to the back of the head after reading Cathy's diary or whatever, considering the guy's gone through a million times worse in MC 7. Of course, what happened in this chapter is nowhere near as bad as Consternation was for Hank, but at least he looks a lot less incompetent now.

Speaking of changes… I think you guys know what comes next from here.

* * *

 _ **Changelog:**_

1 - Chapter title changed to "Old Faces."

2 - Langstone now feeds Hank information ahead of time as Hank visits Langstone Bar first. The original seemed very forced with its execution of Langstone revealing the truth, so this is a change I'm very happy with. You'll see what happens to our favorite bartender soon enough. ;)

3 - Deimos taps Hank's phone ahead of time. I mean, that's really not how "hacking" works, but it's at least a _little_ bit more believable now.

4 - It's a bidet. Despite having one, I didn't know what the ass-washer on toilets were called back then (just like Hank and Deimos didn't here), but I know now. Holy shit indeed.

5 - As mentioned before, massive changes to Hank going through Cathy's room and the raiders that knocked him out. No stupid diary explaining all the details, but lots of toxic gas instead.

6 - Almost forgot to mention from the last chapter, it's "SIN Police." That idea actually came from Alias and I am eternally grateful for his change.

7 - RIP Mason. At least you have a name for your grave now.

8 - Grammatical errors removed.

9 - Narration and dialogue improved.

10 - Diction enhanced.

11 - The _universe is a better place._

* * *

Changelog done. Not much is happening on my end worth sharing, so here's a fun fact: I'm actually typing this offline while on the train to college. It's the only thing my Chromebook is useful for to be honest, lol. Hopefully, I'll be able to reconnect and save all my changes before something stupid happens… but if you're reading this now, that probably means I did.

(I think the dude sitting next to me is high out of his mind. He's been smiling pretty weirdly at the ceiling).

Sooo… yeah. I'm just gonna finish up some schoolwork in the meantime and maybe even get cracking on Chapter 24. This chapter was completed on March 5th, 2019, at 3:43 PM. As miraculous as it is to complete it in 4 days, here's to hoping I can keep up this pace… probably not, but still hoping!

My stop for school is just around the corner, so thank you for reading this rewritten installment of Final Salvation! We hope you enjoyed it and see you next time!

~Spirit


	24. Detonation

Chapter 24: Detonation

* * *

Everything was burning down in front of Hank. Again.

Bright orange flames ravaged the wooden walls beneath him. The figures beneath the fire resembled the home he had known for all his life—the closest semblance of salvation granted after a lifetime of torment, both given and received.

In one corner of the room, Sanford's charred body lay in a gradually evaporating pool of his own blood. In the other, Deimos dangled off a piece of sharp hardwood that had pierced his stomach, his face caved in. The only light that reflected off their eyes was the blaze surrounding their bodies.

"Hank!" Cathy's cries finally pierced the inferno. "Hank, help me!"

Her voice thawed him out. It took him a few seconds to realize the lower half of her body was painfully pinned under rubble, up the stairs. Hank sprinted up the steps, ignoring the familiar feeling of fire peeling away at his skin. Familiar burns from a familiar orphanage that had formed familiar scars.

"I'm here, Catherine!" He kneeled in front of her, jamming his fingers under the debris. "Stay with me!"

She didn't give him a reply as he tried to lift up the large pile of ignited wood over her back. Violent coughs escaped his throat and his muscles struggled against the rubble as he resorted to digging with his bare hands. Miraculously, the pile gave way, allowing him to pull her body out for a split-second. His relief was short-lived, as the roof audibly warped above him.

Instinct took control of Hank's legs and he leapt back a split-second before the ceiling could crush him and Cathy. The force of the collapse shoved him down the stairs, clutching her to his chest. Once they reached the lowest step, Hank slowly pulled her away from himself.

"Cather-?"

Where Catherine Richards should have been in his arms, only the upper half of his old caretaker's corpse remained. In shock, he tossed the body away, leaving the rest of it to burn to ash.

"This is our fault, isn't it?"

There was no way Hank wouldn't have recognized the voice behind him—it was his own.

He turned to the soulless eyes of a man with a torn jaw and even more torn clothes. A bullet hole pierced his left cheek, with rope burns wrapped around the figure's neck and throat. Hank realized he stood before who he was and was going to become, as his fingers wrapped around his own neck. No matter how much he tightened his grip, Hank only received his own apathetic look, judging himself with red eyes as everything was burning. Burning. Burning.

And then there were none.

* * *

Ice-cold water burned the skin on Hank's face as much as the imaginary fire had. His eyes shot open.

"Welcome back." The man in front of him tossed a bucket aside.

It took a second for Hank's brain to process that Augustus stood before him and another to remember everything that had happened in the past several hours. The concoction of the two made him spring up, only to realize something tightly bounded his limbs against the chair he was sitting in. He looked down at the metal braces attached to the armrests… and his wrists.

Augustus crossed his arms. "You're in quite the hurry."

"Where is she?" Hank growled, testing the restraints.

Augustus shook his head. "You're not in any position to make demands, Wimbleton. Look around you."

The faint blue glow of ATP masks and Agent glasses loomed from the shadows, lining the dark walls of the bar. Hank eyes the array of automatic weapons they held in their hands.

"The line of our Advanced Agents and Engineers," Augustus said, "They're smarter, faster, and stronger. Best yet, easier to mass produce."

"You're telling me this as if I'm supposed to give a shit."

"Despite the circumstances, you still stay true to your quips!" Augustus laughed. "I don't know whether to admire you for your pride, or pity you for your stupidity."

"Save your pity for once I get out of this chair."

"Yes, yes. More witty threats." Augustus rolled his eyes as he looked away. "I was hoping you would say something more interesting at the end of your rope."

"We drowned you in our money to do _your_ dirty work. And you chose to blow us to pieces and burn our house down."

"Precisely," Augustus agreed. "And you played along. Don't get me wrong, I _was_ aware of your suspicions. I felt your death glares. And I _know_ that stubborn spark of camaraderie clinging to your conscience."

Augustus turned back. "I needed to see if you three were still a threat. If mere mobsters or mail bombs were enough to eliminate you, then you wouldn't be worth my time."

"You and your wannabe mercs aren't worth my time, either," Hank said. "Tell me where Catherine Richards is and-"

"And we're back to square one," Augustus scoffed. "Even if I were to tell you, what do you plan on doing while you're stuck in that chair?"

"I'll only break one of your arms."

"You have a saint's generosity, truly. But you aren't getting it, are you?"

"Getting what?"

"The rape," Augustus glared straight into Hank's eyes, "was _staged_."

Where the veteran's collected expression collapsed into shock, a fake softness returned to his captor's face.

"What's the matter?" Augustus pulled away from him. "Out of clever one-liners?"

"You're lying."

" _I'm_ lying?" Augustus let out another laugh, one with more mirth. "Who's lying to who here, exactly? Did you really think that girl loved _you_? You've single handedly killed hundreds of men and took pride in the sport. You were among the greats!" He let his hands drop in exasperation. "And deep down, you thought some _crime fighting_ would just reverse all of that?"

A wide smile broke onto Augustus's face. "Normalcy! You and your two lapdogs of all people actually thought you could just go back to the way things were, as if nothing had happened. That's the most hilarious and pathetic thing I've heard since the end of the War..."

His curve morphed into an unusual frown. "... but I would laugh more if the thought didn't make me vomit."

Hank's words were caught between his throat and the memories that made his blood run cold. In this silence Augustus continued to speak.

"You said that you and your compatriots had 'done the dirty work.' Don't flatter yourselves. To me, your assistance is just as worthless as your money." He pressed the front of his foot against the lower rim of Hank's chair. "I'm sure you still don't believe me, but worry not. There's a third party here who's just _dying_ to prove my point."

With little effort, Augustus flipped the heavy chair backwards, sending Hank crashing to the ground. Hank recognized the feeble body behind him, bleeding and twitching as the figure was crucified to the wall.

"Isn't that right, Langstone?" Augustus asked.

* * *

"Deimos, slow down," Sanford warned in a low voice as he trailed behind Deimos in a full sprint.

The gray buildings of Dead Nevada towered over the both of them, the streets devoid of life. Only a few forgotten cars populated the sides of the road as they ran. From nearby alleyways, the stench of stagnant trash filled the abandoned air.

"Oh, so now I'm going too _fast_?" Deimos kept his eyes on the red dot at the center of his phone's screen. "There's no pleasing you, is there?"

"I'm telling you to pay attention to our surroundings," Sanford maintained his tone. "This is an open area. It's not like an AAHW hallway."

"We don't have time for this, San! And besides, which one of us gave Hank the car keys, exactly?"

"You're missing the point-!"

A strange detail at the edge of Sanford's vision made him pause. The window of a nearby apartment building sparkled blue.

Sanford grabbed the back of Deimos's collar, dragging them both behind the trunk of a car. "Get down!"

Rounds pinged off the top of the hood, punching straight through the steel. Smoke began to billow beneath the mutilated metal as the bullets stopped. Sanford drew a Colt revolver and fired back at the window, hitting the brick wall of the building in a near miss. Their attacker retreated back inside.

Footsteps alerted Deimos to hold their rear. He dropped to one knee and fired his Browning HP with both hands at two Agents rushing towards them. The pair collapsed, oozing red from their suits, while the remainder of their squad fell behind cover.

"That chick was right! They're wearing blue glasses!" Deimos exclaimed.

"Fashion talk later!" Sanford motioned in front of himself. "This way!"

More rounds plunged into the sidewalk behind the duo as they rushed into the alleyway in front of them, with Sanford at the lead. As they turned the corner, a baton was already coming straight down for Sanford's scalp. Sanford blocked it with the side of his left arm, feeling a vicious electric current tremble through his bones as he involuntarily dropped his firearm. Gritting his teeth, he unsheathed his hook with his right hand and brought the pointed end down the Engineer's skull.

Deimos fired beside Sanford down the alleyway, killing the two other hostiles behind the Engineer, while Sanford yanked his hook out. The Engineer collapsed backwards, face torn into a yellow mess.

"You all right?" Deimos asked, glancing at his partner's limp arm.

"Yeah, thanks. It's my first time being tased by a baton." Sanford slowly clenched and unclenched his left hand, feeling gradually returning to his limb. "They _look_ like AAHW thugs, but AAHW thugs aren't this smart."

"Got some pretty nice gear, too." Deimos patted down the Engineer's body. "I'm kinda jealous."

"Stay on your toes this time." Sanford looked behind him as the clamor of more shoes stomped against concrete. "Unless you can pull a miracle out of your ass, we're pinned here."

"Actually, I think I can." Deimos pointed up with the electric baton in his hand. "Can your hook carry us both?"

"It'll be slow, but yeah. It could." Sanford asked as he turned around. "Why?"

Deimos lifted two cylindrical grenades with his other hand. A wide smile was spread across his face.

* * *

"Like it?" Augustus grinned. "Traitors make the best decorations."

"He was scared." Hank struggled to break free again, to no avail. "He didn't deserve that, you sick bastard."

"Dissenter be damned." Augustus stomped down on the edge of the chair, setting it back upright. "Now, eyes back on me. I've waited _years_ for this moment, so asking you for a few more minutes of your attention is a reasonable request. Think of it as looking right into a mirror."

"You're _nothing_ like me."

"I certainly won't be after this next part." Augustus snapped his fingers, summoning one of the Engineers. "The human body is too flawed. If nature designed us to fail, then we will rectify those mistakes by unnatural means."

Augustus reached for the small, black box in the Engineer's hand, who pulled back. He glared at his subordinate.

"Why are you hesitating?" Augustus asked.

"Sir," the Engineer began, "if I may-"

"You may not. Show it to me and keep quiet."

His inferior followed the orders. Augustus opened the box, pulling out the object carefully contained within a crimson-cushioned compartment. The syringe he lifted delicately was filled halfway with a fluid as black as tar.

"The majority of the Agency's scientific research was dedicated to the creation of a serum. They sought something that would remove the line between mortality and godhood, through _Improbability_. Those deemed unworthy by the Energy went mad, dissolving into black flames or devolving into mindless Abominations. Even the most successful subjects, the 'Artificial Hosts' as they were called, suffered from varying levels of psychosis, caused by Dissonant Reality.

"I've already proven my worth and acquired immortality through this process. But the power wasn't there." Augustus inspected the needle under the ceiling's dim lighting. "I would come to learn that a vital element was missing from the original compound. An ingredient only _you_ possess."

"You're delusional," Hank said. "I don't know anything about your witch doctor bullshit."

"You do know, Hank." Augustus's pupils darted back to him. "Because it's your _blood_ that we're after. The blood of the only Natural Host in existence."

He handed the syringe back to the Engineer, who walked up to Hank. Despite the trapped veteran's wrangling, the Engineer inserted the needle into a vein. Dark red filled the second-half of the vial, swirling and bonding with the preoccupying black. The Engineer began to shake the contents around.

"You've played all your parts well. Admittedly, this process would have been slightly easier if you had died in that explosion." Augustus's smug grin returned to his face. "But where's the fun in teasing a corpse?"

Hank gritted his teeth. "Augustus…"

Augustus snatched the syringe from the Engineer. He tapped the needle with his index finger, mesmerized by the glowing pink in his hand, and set the point against his skin.

"Witness, Wimbleton."

With a push of his thumb, the mixture slowly pumped into Augustus's bloodstream. Its contents visibly travelled up his arm, leaving a luminescent trail, until it disappeared completely after passing his shoulder. The calm composure in Augustus's eyes collapsed; his pupils immediately dilated as he grabbed the sides of his head and fell to his knees, groaning and gasping for air. Steam wafted from his pores, as if his skin had been set completely ablaze from the inside.

"Sir!" The Engineer dropped to one knee beside him. "It must have been too soon! We should reverse-!"

Augustus grabbed the back of the Engineer's head, smashing it straight into the ground. Only a loud _crunch_ escaped the inferior, before Augustus's palm squashed both his skull and brains into a yellow mush. A long sigh left Augustus's lips as the steam trails emanating from his body faded.

"This… this is _perfect_." Augustus clenched and unclenched his fist, staring at his arm. He looked back down at the fresh corpse he made, blood running down his fingers, the cold look returning to his eyes. "I said to remain quiet, you tool. That was your third strike."

From his pocket, Augustus pulled out a simple button. He shifted his focus back to Hank, a red glint in his gaze. "If anyone dares interfere with what will come next, I will do to them what I did to him on the ground."

After pressing the switch, the restraints around Hank's arms snapped off. Hank leapt to his feet, turning to the Advanced soldiers. None of them moved, not even to take aim.

The sound of feet quickly shuffling over the old wood of the bar made Hank turn, catching Augustus's fist at the last second. Using his left arm, Hank shoved away the second punch aiming for his jaw, and with the other arm, countered with a jab. Augustus ducked, slamming both palms into Hank's chest and staggering him a few feet back.

"Where are you looking?" Augustus straightened out his back, a smirk on his face. "I was hoping you'd actually give your earlier threats some merit."

Hank glowered at him as he cracked his knuckles.

"You're _really_ going to love this next part, then."

* * *

On each side of the alley's maw, three Advanced soldiers took a knee in an arrowhead formation. The Engineer and Agent at the lead of each trio nodded to each other, as the Engineer lifted up three fingers, then two. At one, two soft clinks from the concrete in front of them interrupted the Engineer's countdown.

The first grenade's smoke began to cover the alleyway. A few seconds later, the second popped into a brilliant light as the duo at the front jumped back, covering their eyes. There wasn't enough time to warn their companions, resulting in the second and third rows of men being blinded and deafened.

The first Agent-Engineer pair pushed in, firing blind through the smoke. When they pushed past it and into clean air again, it took them too long to see Sanford and Deimos standing on the fire escape. Accurate fire rained from above, ripping into supposedly-advanced chests and then heads. Screams lured out another Agent, who came running into the same fate.

Catching onto the slaughter, the remaining hostile trio maintained their positions. Peering out of cover, one of the Engineers fired his KRISS Vector back. Bullets bounced off the wall nearby Sanford and Deimos, one even pinging off of the fire escape.

Using his newly acquired MP5, Deimos returned fire. Sanford smashed the window beside them with his revolver's grip, kicking the remainder of the glass in and alerting three of the Advanced soldiers inside. For all the guns trained on the window, the Agent at the far end of the room couldn't expect the hook flying straight for his side. The point jabbed itself just below the Agent's ribcage, biting all the way through his skin.

With a solid tug on the line, Sanford reeled himself towards the Agent at top speed, flying past two bewildered Engineers. He fired the last two bullets in his chamber at the head of one of the Engineers while flying past, then smashed both feet into the skull of the Agent at full force. Sanford rolled to the side, scooping up the G36 the Agent dropped as bullets flew above him. He rose to one knee and returned fire, his shots connecting with the Engineer's midsection. Deimos climbed through the window just in time to see the Engineer stagger and dropping to the ground.

"Like I said, explosive personality!" The techie whistled. "I'm telling ya, you should put that on your SWAT team resume or something."

"I don't know." Sanford stood. "Makes me sound more like a terrorist when you put it that way."

"Exactly! Crazy people are the best people for that line of work!"

"I think that'd explain why we're unemployed…" Sanford looked around, eyeing the crates filled to the brim with a wide assortment of guns. "Look at this. I haven't seen this much firepower in one room since we left Antithesis."

"They'll probably want it back, then." Deimos pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He shook a stick into his hand. "Looks pretty pricey."

"And perfect for a siege." Sanford dug through one of the boxes imprinted with a flammable warning symbol. "We're blasting that door, along with anyone waiting for us outside. Ready?"

"Did you need to ask?" Deimos lit the cigarette in his mouth, then pulled it out between his index and middle finger. "This is my natural element."

As Sanford placed the charges by the door, Deimos yanked a HK 416 out of a nearby crate. The techie cocked the gun while the demolitionist set the explosives.

"Explosive personality," Deimos whispered dramatically as Sanford backed up with him.

"Shut your whore mouth."

There were two beeps, and then two booms. The soldiers closest to the door crumpled to the floor as mangled remains of their former selves; their more fortunate colleagues further away were simply dazed. Sanford and Deimos moved through the debris, backs turned to each other as they covered opposite ends of the hallway. They both opened fire, felling half a dozen Agents and Engineers before they could fire back.

Miraculously, two Engineers survived the volley of lead, one on each side, and closed the distance between Sanford and Deimos with shock batons extended. Sanford blocked his Engineer's strike with his hook, pushing away the baton and plunging the point into the top of the Engineer's head. With all his upper body strength, Sanford flipped himself over the Engineer, smashing him against the ground.

Behind him, Deimos sidestepped his Engineer's attack and rammed the butt of his rifle into man's mask, denting it with sheer strength. The Engineer stumbled as Deimos reversed his rifle to fire at point blank range, sending brain matter all over the apartment complex's dirty-beige wallpaper. He beamed, wiping yellow blood off his face.

"Just like the good ol' days, San! We even get to save Hank's ass a _second_ time!"

"Which is why our trip down memory lane is over!" Sanford pointed down the hallway with his hook. "Let's find a way out through the back!"

* * *

Hank's fists whizzed through the air, making contact with their target half a second later. Three years hadn't rusted his capabilities; his knuckles surged like powerful pistons, strong enough to crack concrete.

Like swatting a fly, Augustus slapped the hits away with ease. Thunderous blow after blow reverberated off the walls as Augustus backed up, his impenetrable blocks holding fast against Hank's push forward. At the tenth attack, Augustus grabbed Hank's right fist. His free hand aimed straight for Hank's liver, barely giving Hank enough time to turn.

Hank managed to redirect the hit to his stomach, but the unbelievable force still made him double over. Hank could feel the blast travel through him in slow motion, a shockwave rippling across his skin. The dense collection of muscle fibers in his abs barely prevented the single attack from rupturing his innards.

Warning signals screamed in Hank's head as he felt Augustus release his arm. Instinctively, he blocked Augustus's fist from the side, and countered with an uppercut. Augustus's head bobbed back only momentarily, just in time for Hank to bash his forehead into his adversary's nose. As Augustus staggered back, Hank put some distance between them and inhaled deeply.

"Odd. I never took you as one to retreat from a fistfight." Yellow blood leaked out of Augustus's broken nose. He pulled at it with his index finger and thumb, repositioning the bone with a crack. "Afraid?"

Instead of a response, the familiar taste of battle climbed up Hank's throat. In one fluid motion, he threw a beer bottle standing on the counter beside him flying at Augustus's head.

Augustus smacked the bottle away with the back of his forearm, shattering the glass through brute speed and power. Before the first shard could hit the ground, Hank followed up on the surprise attack with a solid hook to Augustus's jaw and an uppercut to his stomach. Augustus ducked Hank's next jab at his face and responded with his own hook towards Hank's left side, followed by a direct blow into Hank's sternum.

Hank felt his ribcage compress against his lungs, trying not to shatter from the two blows. At a dizzying speed, he grabbed Augustus's wrist mid-air and sent a triplet of jabs down his foe's midsection. Augustus broke free of the grip, sending a punch straight back to Hank's face. Hank crouched in a blur, sending his fist at his opponent's ribs before a roundhouse kick.

An afterimage of Hank's body trailed after each motion and Augustus lagged behind each counterattack. This time, it was Augustus who palmed Hank back to make distance between them.

"Afraid?" Hank mocked as he returned to a fighting stance.

"Very cute." Augustus used the back of his hand to wipe off the trail of blood trickling down his chin. "Do you think I don't know what tricks you're pulling?"

"Then show me."

Augustus strode towards him, accelerating with each step. By the time he reached Hank, the difference in their speeds was negligible. The Advanced soldiers on the sidelines could barely keep up with the attacks as they were traded in loud, hand-to-hand blows every half-second.

Hank stumbled backwards and felt a table block the path behind him. As Augustus charged, Hank rolled over the table and landed on both feet at the other side. He kicked the displaced furniture towards Augustus and broke one of its legs off, wielding it like a lead pipe. Hank hopped over the table at the moment Augustus prepped for another gut punch.

He successfully drove the table leg towards the side of Augustus's head, its wood disintegrating into splinters as it made contact with its target. Not even a second later, Hank's brief moment of victory was met with Augustus's knuckles smashing into his skull at maximum velocity.

His ears rung violently from the blow and his legs began to lose their composure. He shifted into full survival mode, trying to follow up on his surprise melee attack with half-weakened punches. Even though his hits landed, Augustus brushed them off, without slacking on the cannonball ferocity of his own blows.

Hank's focus shattered. In a last resort, he brought his arms close to his midsection, trying to cushion the torturous onslaught. Augustus grabbed him by the front of his face, pressing his fingers into Hank's lower jaw before smashing him into the back wall of the bar. Cracks formed on the concrete as Hank lost his grip on Augustus's arm.

" _Bullet-Time_ ," Augustus whispered to him. "That was your trick."

With one arm, Augustus tossed Hank back to the center of the floor. Hank rolled a few times before coming to a full halt.

"You believe you're so special, Hank. Killing hundreds of men, destroying thousands of futures." Augustus smashed the sole of his foot into Hank's stomach, eliciting a pained gasp from the downed combatant. "Above that mountain of corpses and despair, you look down at the commoners, gracing them with your wit. Because you are an all-powerful prophet, the line between life and death drawn within your agency."

Augustus leaned in close. At this range, even Hank could see through blurred vision the wounds he had inflicted on his foe were actively closing up, as if he never fought back at all.

"And now, I am your god."

As Hank let out a weak laugh, Augustus kicked him onto his back. Hank heard Augustus snap his fingers again. A new Engineer marched up to him, handing him a long object Hank couldn't discern. Augustus lowered himself, applying a sudden prick straight down Hank's back. As quick as the uncomfortable sensation came, it faded.

"I will take everything from you," Augustus whispered. "With your own two hands."

Augustus stood up and nodded to his men. Footsteps stomped around the two and towards the back counter. Glass shattered everywhere, coating almost every square foot of floor and wall in alcohol. Something clattered in front of Hank's face; he immediately recognized it as Cathy's phone.

"When I am ready, you will know where to find me," Augustus's voice receded as he made for the exit. "That is, assuming you'll be saved. Otherwise, this is farewell, Wimbleton."

Augustus's soldiers followed him out of the bar. Before the last Engineer stepped out, he struck a match and dropped it onto the floor. Flames erupted from the trails of alcohol, forming a ring as it spread. Trapped clouds of smoke grew rapidly denser beneath the ceiling.

Hank struggled against his own weight in an effort to get up, but collapsed on the floor again. Though his strength normally returned to him swiftly, the circumstances left Hank violently coughing and cursing on the ground. The fire rendered his surroundings unrecognizable, dwindling hope with each unforgiving crackle. Everything was burning down in front of Hank.

Again.

The front door to the bar burst open. A pair of footsteps rushed in.

"Hank!" Deimos's familiar voice was the first to call.

He rushed to Hank's aid, with Sanford close behind. Sanford helped Hank to his feet, and Hank nodded weakly at the far wall.

"Langstone…"

Deimos caught on, following Hank's line of sight. He hurried to the unconscious bartender, trying to find what kept the old man pinned. Hank stumbled towards Deimos, but Sanford pulled him back.

Sanford covered his mouth with the collar of his shirt. "Deimos, let's go!"

"They power-drilled his hands to the wall!" Deimos pulled at the bloodied nails pierced through Langstone's palms. "I can't get him off!"

"Leave him!"

"But he's going to-!"

"So will we if we stay!"

The techie looked back at the bartender's paling face. He shoved a familiar pain down his stomach.

"I'm sorry," Deimos whispered, and turned away.

The trio ran out of the burning bar. At the first breath of fresh air, they coughed out soot, turning around to the sound of a loud and long-winded crack. The building's wooden supports had finally failed.

Langstone's Bar collapsed in on itself and its owner. Deimos looked away, a solemn expression etched on his face.

"Deimos." Sanford hesitated on the next few words. "There was nothing we could do."

"I know."

Sanford's face was just as downcast. "You shouldn't think about it."

"He shouldn't have been involved." Deimos clenched his fists. "It's our fault."

As if the words reinvigorated him, Hank shot up to his feet with a grunt. Sanford grabbed him before he collapsed to the floor again.

"Hank, take it easy!" Sanford warned.

He weakly glanced at them both in response. "How did you two know I was here?"

Sanford turned to Deimos with an expectant look. Deimos grimaced.

"I… installed a tracking device in your phone back at the hotel," the techie admitted.

"And?" Sanford pressured.

"San..."

"No." Sanford glared at him. "You have to tell him, Deimos."

Deimos eventually forced himself forward with a sigh.

"The phone Cathy gave you was bugged."

With his mask on, it was impossible for either of them to see what Hank's reaction was. Instead, all they could do was watch him slowly get up by himself, this time with success.

"But look, Hank!" Deimos stammered with a nervous grin. "I'm pretty sure there's a reason behind this! Maybe somebody tapped the phone before she gave it to you! Or, or-!"

"Stop talking, Deimos," Hank said.

Deimos sulked. Sanford's phone went off, grabbing everyone's attention.

"Chief," Sanford answered. "I'm sorry about the Lieutenant. Could we talk later though? Now's not the best time."

Even from Sanford's ear, Hank and Deimos could hear Harley screaming on the line. Sanford pulled away momentarily.

"Wait, Chief," Sanford shook his head. "What are you-? Yeah, they're with me, why? Uh… okay?"

"Is everything alright?" Deimos asked.

"I don't know." Sanford tapped a button on his phone. "But he wants me to put him on speaker."

Sanford outstretched the phone towards them. Deimos spoke first.

"Hello?"

" _Where are you three?!"_

The harsh static underlying Harley's voice didn't help make his tone seem any less threatening.

"We're in the middle of Dead Nevada right now," Deimos replied.

" _Are you telling me that_ none _of you heard the explosions?!"_

"Explosions?"

" _From the city!"_

The trio turned towards the collection of tall buildings in the distance. The fire consuming Langstone's Bar had distracted them from the obvious plumes of smoke rising to the city's skyline. Another explosion rattled the air.

"Oh God," Sanford said.

" _They're bombing every other building and our communication towers! I need you three back here RIGHT NOW! We're being completely overrun by those men Melissa told us about!"_

Sanford and Deimos looked at each other, seeking an answer in the other's distressed face.

"Cut the call."

Hank gave them one. His answer was just as surprising as the monotone he delivered it in.

Sanford covered his phone's mic. "Those soldiers are trained, Hank. The cops are going to need our help."

"Getting Augustus is our only priority," Hank said. "If you're not going to tell Harley that, then pass me the phone."

After a brief pause, Sanford reluctantly handed Hank the device. Hank snatched it.

" _Hello?!"_ Harvey yelled, almost pleadingly. _"Are you guys still there?!"_

"We're going for the person responsible," Hank explained. "Hold off their fodder until the military shows up. The government should catch on pretty quickly, considering your comms are being downed."

Hank hung up before Harley could question any of his rationalizations.

"Is this really okay?" The techie asked.

"What do you mean?" Sanford questioned back.

"This feels like the War all over again. Cutting corners with all these tough decisions."

Sanford raised an eyebrow. "You really wanna be the one saying that?"

"That's different," Deimos answered defensively. "Everything I did before were choices only involving us, Augustus, and those gangs. Now everything we're doing is getting other people involved."

"Maybe we never left the War in the first place," Hank said. "And maybe it was stupid of us to think that we could."

Sanford noticed the object Hank tightly gripped in his hand. "Whose phone is that?"

"Catherine's."

"Cathy!" Deimos's eyes widened as he looked at Hank. "Shit, I almost forgot about her! Did you figure out where she is?!"

Hank flipped open her phone. Oddly enough, it was fully charged, revealing two strings of black numbers over the white background of a memo app on its screen. A decimal point stood between the gap of the second and third digit to the left of each string. Beneath it, a single line of text consisting of two words:

 _Catherine Richards._

Hank lowered the phone.

"I think I have."

* * *

(Original) A/N: Okay. That's far enough. This is the longest chapter I've written in a while since I was missing the violence concept.

How'd ya like it? I bet you guys want moar? Well I'll give you moar. Lots moar.

This is the beginning of an epic fight. When you see it, you'll shit brix.

Special thanks go to all of you. Like I said, reading my chapters help inspire me to write more.

Ironically, I don't have anything else to say since I'm writing this right after I uploaded Chapter 23. I made this just to keep you all at the edge of you seats.

And for those of you who would say, "No way Hank would lose in a fight that easily!" trust me, there's a reason why. I can't say it yet or I'll spoil the plot. Just keep reading and don't worry. I'm filling in the gaps.

See you guys later!

~Spirit9871

* * *

(New) A/N: YOU HEAR THAT?! YOU'LL "SHIT BRIX," GUYS!

All due seriousness, this was another huge chapter I'm glad I was able to revisit. The Augustus v. Hank fight scene was a huge wasted opportunity in original Salvation, especially with lines like: "trading blows like two fighters from Dragon Ball Z." I actually couldn't bring myself to read the original fight sequence and all its respective dialogue while I was rewriting this chapter. It was really that poor.

Along with the heavily upgraded Sanford and Deimos moments, this new fight sequence took up most of my time as a matter of fact; this is probably the most detail I've ever put in a one-on-one confrontation and I'm pretty happy with the end result. At the very least, the end product doesn't look like a weird pissing match between two edgy dudes in a bar.

Beyond that, the logical inconsistencies I was able to fill in were very satisfying too. Even managed to foreshadow some new stuff while I was at it. Though I found a few things that should have had more clarification earlier in the Rewrite, I'll probably revisit those minor details later in one more quick sweep. The changes should be minimal enough that if you were to revisit the earlier chapters, they shouldn't be too drastic to change the plot (though I'm not stopping anyone from checking them out of course).

The Changelog should be able to highlight what I mean:

* * *

 _ **Changelog:**_

1 - Chapter title changed to "Detonation."

2 - Initial dream sequence added. Helps with the pacing and foreshadowing (not just for this story too, as a matter of fact).

3 - HUGE adjustments to Sanford's and Deimos's scenes. The original just had these weird, one-line jump cuts to try and balance out the pacing in Hank's fight, but adding those scenes was probably one of my favorite changes in the entire Rewrite.

4 - Also, HUGE adjustments to Augustus and the "Improbable Serum" he uses in the original. Augustus gives us lore on the development of the serum, mentioning terms such as Dissonant Reality and Abominations to further tie in Project Nexus. He even mentions Artificial Hosts and Natural Hosts as well (those of you who follow Hank's Legacy should know why that's a big deal).

5 - Langstone's crucifixion. In the original, the old man had dying words. Looking back now, I realized how forced and unnecessary that moment was, so he's now Damned to the wall.

6 - Speaking of Langstone's, the bar burns down and with it, Langstone. I felt it fits the flow of the story better and really pushes home that "fault" theme.

7 - Augustus gives Hank Catherine's cellphone with coordinates. A lot more believable than Deimos somehow managing to "hack" Cathy's phone and get her location.

8 - Grammatical errors removed.

9 - Narration and dialogue improved.

10 - Diction enhanced.

11 - The _universe is a better place._

* * *

And those were the changes. Regarding personal life, I'm doing alright. Managed to score myself an internship with my psychology department, so I'm pretty stoked about that. Also, I'll be heading to Japan this Spring Break! So that's a huge plus as well (considering I really need the vacation). In other news, I got Reddit Silver for the first time (two in fact), for a short meme edit I did for an anime I watched with a friend, so that was pretty nice too, haha.

Been feeling drained but at least I'm still progressing with these chapters; huge special thanks to Alias, Sacrom, and Semour (a new editor/close friend of mine) for keeping me motivated on the story. As always, you guys are the best.

Hank's Legacy will be updated very soon! The next chapter is pretty much done, save for some finishing touches. Hopefully, I can get it up at the same time this chapter goes up too!

And that's it! I'm gonna wrap this up here before it gets too long (and before my train reaches class). Thank you all for reading and for all the great comments I've been getting; I've definitely been putting them into high consideration, especially those offering criticism! They really help and I'm genuinely appreciative of the time and energy those of you take to leave a good/constructive word in!

We hope you enjoyed this rewritten chapter of Final Salvation! Have a great weekend guys!

~Spirit


	25. Blackmail

Chapter 25: Blackmail

* * *

Augustus's eyes roved the surface of an all-too familiar map beneath the dim light of an aged fixture. Small red crosses were scattered on the parchment's variously shaped rectangles, reflecting an empty chess board ready to be filled with pieces.

He sprinkled .357 rounds over the table as he spoke.

"Do you believe words can change people?"

The lone Advanced Engineer standing by the door looked around for a moment. "Are you talking to me, sir?"

"Who else?"

"Of course. My apologies, sir."

"You can apologize by giving me an answer."

The Engineer stared at the ground, thinking. He looked back up.

"If… those words are convincing enough, then perhaps?"

"'If those words are convincing enough,'" Augustus repeated to himself in a whisper. He scoffed. "Weren't you Engineers supposed to be intelligent?"

"With all due respect sir, our area of expertise lies in machinery and maintenance, not philosophy."

"I'm aware. Surely your training has given you some unique perspectives. Why don't you humor me while we wait?" Augustus sifted through the army of bullets in front of him, separating them into different pools as his fingers trailed Nevada's roads. "In truth, 'perhaps' was the incorrect answer. Many have tried to solve this timeless question. Unfortunately, every part of a person is a product of circumstantial variability. It appears there is no panacea for mankind's ignorance."

"So there is no answer?"

"No _definitive_ answer. If there was, then human conflict would be nonexistent." Augustus began to pick up the individual cartridges, inspecting each one under the light. "Despite diversity, the universal desire to survive is an abusable flaw. When one's right to exist is threatened by an unstoppable force, in most cases, fear and anger will make them bend in any direction."

One particular round made him pause. There was a luster to this bullet that was different from the others. Perhaps it was due to the way it was manufactured. Or rather, it had been polished by the other bullets in its box like a piece of refined limestone. Regardless of the reasons, it had caught its master's eyes and that was enough.

"On rare occasion, you may find an interesting outlier. A person that seemingly subverts this rule, whether it be from experience or some unnatural factor. To the common man, they are the worst adversaries." With a flick of his thumb, Augustus flipped the bullet into the air, snatching it into his hand. "But to the opportunist, they are the greatest pieces on the board."

"Do you believe you're an outlier, sir?"

The bullet smoothly rolled off of Augustus's hand as it traced over the grooves of his fingertips. As soon as it fitted itself into a chamber, he methodically flicked his wrist, setting the cylinder into place with a _clink_.

"Of course not."

The Engineer remained silent before his headset buzzed. He pushed the button on the side of the device, and a brief moment later, lowered his arm.

"Preparations for the Tent are set, sir."

"Splendid." Augustus stood with a grin. "Now let's invite the locals to the Circus."

* * *

The road to the Nevada Devils' hideout was paved with painful memories. Hank, Sanford, and Deimos met nothing but desolation as they made their way through the still-ruined buildings they passed. Once, the drifters and the destitute populated every street corner, every poorly-lit alley. Yet, even the unfortunates who had no place to flee to had fled long ago.

"Augustus, that bastard. He's rubbing it in our faces, isn't he?" Deimos muttered from the passenger's seat. He turned around and met Hank's gaze. "The hell happened in there? And how hard did you kick his ass?"

Hank took a moment to process an answer.

"You two steer clear from him."

Deimos stared at him before turning back around, uncharacteristically speechless. Sanford tried to keep his focus to his front.

"I'm thinking we stick together from here on out." Sanford broke the awkward silence. "Watch each other's backs."

"Ya think they're using all those other hideouts we cleared up too?" Deimos asked.

Sanford applied the brakes, bringing the sedan to a halt. "I don't know. But I think we're bound to find out."

The Devils' complex looked exactly as how they had left it. Deimos let out a chuckle as he saw the rusted dumpster.

Sanford stepped out of the car. "Nostalgic?"

"Yep," Deimos replied, following suite. "Still remember what leet in leet is?"

"1-3-3-7?"

"There ya go." The lit tip of Deimos' cigarette bobbed with each syllable. "At least you're not old enough to have shit memory, gramps."

"Your nerdspeak still isn't something worth remembering, Deimos."

Though Hank was the last to exit the car, he was the first to stride towards the abandoned hideout. Deimos sighed and shook his head.

"I'm gonna need another cigarette."

"I think I might too."

Deimos looked at his partner. "You're not a smoker though."

"If this keeps up, I will be."

"Stick to being an alcoholic, San. If we make it out of this, I'll swap you my liver for a lung."

* * *

How many hours had it been since she had been dragged off? How far was she from the closest human being?

Not far, she imagined. He would arrive soon.

As Cathy kept her knees close to her chest, her head lightly tapped the side wall, like a child surrendering to starvation.

How could she forgive herself?

Like an unforgiving tumor, the question recurred in Cathy's mind. To her dismay, it grew with her thoughts and feelings in a vicious feedback loop. If that wouldn't kill her, then what was coming next almost certainly would.

Death did not knock. It marched up cold, metal stairs in steel-toed boots.

She looked up at the noise that paused in front of the lone entranceway to the room. A solid kick flung the door inward with a crash. Cathy covered her head, expecting the worst.

No hot lead boring holes into her skull. No honed blades sliding between her ribs. Nothing.

Cathy risked a glance upwards. Hank stood before her. One look at each other's faces told them they were on the same page.

Hank lowered his head.

"Why?"

That was the best he could muster. She looked down at her knees.

"If you're going to hurt me, you know I can't stop you."

Hank grabbed her by the neck, lifting her up against the wall with one arm. She gagged, feeling the rough leather of his glove squeezing her throat. From the doorway, Sanford set his arm in front of Deimos before the techie could intervene.

"Everything I cared about," Hank hissed, "burned down right in front of me for a _second time_. Do you understand what that means to me, you backstabbing _bitch_?"

"Mother…" Her face was starting to turn red. "My… mother..."

"Really?" He scoffed as he dropped her. "The 'I've-got-a-wife-and-two-kids' card?"

Hank crossed his arms as she fell to her knees, her coughs devolving into shivers.

"Do _not_ fuck with me. If you want to die, you'll be much better off doing it yourself." He glared at her. "And if you care about your mother so much, you're giving me answers."

"I didn't have a choice." She coughed.

"Some of us never had a choice. And now, you don't either."

"Well... I didn't have one from the start." Cathy's voice hardened a little as she weakly stood up. "Maybe you might've had one if you were in my shoes, but I didn't. I was stuck between two things I cared about, and-"

"Get to the useful part already."

"Hank, I loved you!"

"Kiss my resurrected ass." Hank closed in on her with each word. "Are you trying to waste my time? You're clearly working with that AAHW mass murderer. You know, the one who's been lopping the heads off of civilians nonstop for the last twelve hours. Tell me where he is."

She walked back in retreat. "You don't understand-"

"I understand that you knew about Augustus and his god complex and threw us away for it. He was probably another lover, wasn't he?"

"You're wrong!" The tears started streaming down her face now as she tried looking away. "Because..."

Hank reached into his coat. "This is pointless."

"He's my _brother!_ "

* * *

Harley's curses were directed to both the three-man team that had ignored his calls and the invaders they were meant to fight. Bullets flew over the squad car he hid behind as he huddled behind the engine block, trying to make himself as small as possible. Him and his accompanying officer had barely made it a couple of blocks beyond the station before the rounds started to fly.

"Clyde!" Harley shouted over the din of gunfire. "Where the hell are we getting shot from?!"

Clyde fired a few random shots from cover, hoping he would scare off their ambushers. "I don't know!"

"Take this!" Harley grabbed his Remington 870 and tossed it to his comrade. "And cover our asses!"

Clyde brought his head back up to the fray. Harley reached out for his radio, sighing in relief as soon as he heard it emit static. With all the punishment the car had taken, he was surprised it hadn't failed him.

"Chief to all units!" Harley yelled into the speaker. "All units, report in!"

" _10-4, Officer Dempsey reporting in!"_ Less than a second later, the panicked voice of the officer on the other line came in.

"Dempsey! What's your status?!"

" _10-33, they're all over! They got us pinned down, requesting assistance!"_

" _Officer Warren, reporting!"_ Another officer's voice joined the comms, just as panicked. _"I have a man down here! Requesting reinforcements and immediate medical assistance!"_

"Negative, Warren! All units are unavailable-!"

" _Chief!"_ A third officer spoke over him. _"Our guns aren't punching through their body armor!"_

" _They're fuckin' shooting and grabbing people everywhere!"_ A fourth, shaky voice added as Harley tried opening his mouth to respond. _"We need backup!"_

" _We have citizens hiding behind us right now, Chief!"_ Officer Warren repeated. _"We can't-!"_

" _We've lost control!"_ A fifth officer interrupted. _"They're slaughtering us!"_

Panicked chatter flooded the radio, meshing into incomprehensible, screaming gibberish. Harley grit his teeth.

"All units, fall back to the station, I repeat, _fall back!_ "

None of the officers protested as soon as Harley cut his line. Clyde joined him behind cover again.

"Does that include us, Chief?"

"Goddamn right it does. I'm not losing anyone else!" Harley looked at the wheels of their car, grimacing at the sight of three flat tires. His focus shifted across the road, towards a vacant alleyway about fifty meters away. "We're going to have to make a break for it! You a runner?"

"I was a benchwarmer in high school!"

"Good enough." Harley reached out, and Clyde pressed the shotgun into his hands. "On me!"

Harley led the sprint straight for their only place of refuge. He kept his eyes fixed on the entrance, on the only possibility that there would be a tomorrow where he would still be alive. A sudden force on his back shoved him forward. Before he tripped into safety, he heard a sound akin to a bullet hitting wet soil behind him.

Harley turned around, just in time to see Clyde fall to his side, completely exposed to every possible angle around the block. They stared at each other on the ground, the police chief with his mouth agape and blood leaking out of his officer's.

At the next moment, that same face was scattered onto the pavement with three quick claps of gunfire. Any strength and hope Clyde had used to raise his head instantly vanished.

"CLYDE!" Harley hollered without thinking.

Though he still couldn't see them, the chief could feel half a dozen pairs of eyes trained on the alley, waiting for the slightest hint of movement. Harley scrambled to his feet, running deeper into the passageway as his heart beat against his ears. For every three steps, he cursed himself for feeling a confusing cocktail of emotions that should have been quelled.

A single, wrought iron fence stood halfway down the path. Harley jammed his fingers between the tiny openings, pulling himself up slightly before tossing his shotgun over the barbed wire lining the top of the barricade. Clearing the fence strained every tired muscle fiber in his arms. He threw himself over, and cuts complimented the pain before he came smashing back onto the concrete with a heavy thud.

Only two things reassured him: his shotgun and his beating heart. Harley kicked himself back to his feet and sprinted his way down the last few meters of the alley.

At the very end were the unmistakable bright blue shades of an Agent.

The hostile rounded the corner in slow-motion, a rifle seemingly leveled at Harley's chest. Instinct helped Harley pump and fire first, but his target's finger was already wrapped around the trigger. Shotgun pellets tore into the Agent's head, but his final muscle spasm pulled the trigger as he crumpled. One of the stray bullets pierced Harley in the skin between his left shoulder and pec.

Harley screamed as he fell. Once his lungs gave out, he looked at the hand he clutched his wound with. Seeing his palm completely soaked in blood only made him feel worse.

Yells from behind kicked him back to his feet. Harley grunted as he pulled himself up using the wall beside him. An all-too-obvious trail of blood lined the side of the building as he practically dragged himself out of the alley.

 _Click_.

A single step out of the alleyway and the muzzle of a pistol was already pressed against the temple of Harley's skull. He froze in place, raising his shotgun to the side. Another Engineer and two more Agents moved in around him, weapons trained on their newest hostage.

"Drop it, Chief." The Engineer holding the gun to his head spoke in a gruff voice.

They knew who he was. Harley's rank was the reason why his head wasn't splattered over the ground like Clyde's. It was also the reason why he was certain he'd be tortured the moment he dropped his guard.

"Drop it."

The order came much harsher the second time around, but Harley's grip on his weapon tightened. One of the Agents smashed the stock of his rifle into the police chief's side. Sudden pain made Harley collapse again. His pump-action was kicked away and his body was pinned to the ground by a barrage of kicks and bashes.

The first Engineer pressed a button on the side of his headset. "Alpha-5, reporting. We've secured a VIP. Returning to Tent."

The beating stopped. Harley was left in a shivering, bloody and battered mess. The squad moved to pick him up, only to be interrupted by the loud honk of a horn.

"What the…?"

Calculated bursts of gunfire erupted from the back of a jeep charging straight towards them. An Engineer and one of the Agents fell immediately, while the other pair fired off frantic rounds that missed their marks. The Engineer rolled off to the side, but the car smashed into the Agent, sending his body off the bloodied hood.

As the Engineer clambered to his feet, the passenger sitting shotgun popped over the jeep's door and fired a shell into his face. Lying down had saved Harley's life, though it also left him showered in red and yellow giblets.

"Think we found the target," the passenger said, pumping the action.

The driver raised his head. "Aidan, grab him!"

Harley barely had enough time to grab his 870 before the third man dragged him into the car Loud, struggling groans made them aware of his status.

"Yeah. That's him, all right." The man assessed the damage to Harley's left shoulder. "If they were shooting to kill, all they had to do was aim a little more to his right. Where's the bandages?"

The man with the shotgun slammed the side of his fist against the glove compartment. Opening it, he tossed the white roll to the third man, who immediately started wrapping the police chief's wound.

"Who…?" Harley finally wheezed out.

The bandager gestured to himself. "Aidan." He then pointed to the passenger's seat. "Ivo." Lastly, the driver's. "Adriel. And Antithesis sent us to save _your_ ass, specifically."

"Antithesis?" Harley grimaced. "Not you people again. Fuck."

"I'm _sorry_!" Aidan forcefully tightened the bandages after the last word, eliciting another pained gasp from Harley. "Want us to call you a limo? Oh wait, the AAHW probably controls that too!"

Adriel glared through the rearview mirror. "Aidan!"

"Why'd we have to do PR of all things?" Aidan spread his arms. "Our guys are risking our lives for _your_ mess, you know."

Harley grabbed at his injury. "Where are we going?"

"To the hospital," Ivo answered. "Should be downtown and last I checked, we still have control over that part of the city."

Hospital. Melissa's smiling face resurfaced in Harley's mind, but so did Clyde's corpse.

"No," Harley responded, sternly.

"You've been shot." Adriel tried to hide incredulity in his voice. "You need _actual_ medical assistance."

"I need to get back to my men." Harley sat himself up, stomaching the pain down. "Get me to the station. We're going to RZ there."

"No offense, but I think all this battlefield crap is screwing with your head." Ivo looked behind him. "You were barely able to fight those guys off with _both_ your arms. What makes you think you can retake the city with just one?"

"We can hold off until the military comes in, and-"

"That'll take too long," Aidan spoke over Harley. "Those bastards got blockades all over the damn place and it was hard enough for our guys to squeeze through."

"My boys are waiting for me and I am _not_ going to abandon them!" Harley yelled back.

The jeep went quiet. Adriel's sigh broke the silence.

* * *

"The Army divisions are en route, sir."

The Homeland Security advisor spoke, indicating the widescreen monitor at the front of the President's cabinet. The Situation Room's bright lights shined over them, forming rings of light around each member's scalp.

"And when can you get inside the city?" The president asked.

"At this time, there are no plans for infiltration." The advisor faced the rest of the staff. "The National Guard and local police force will have to hold out until we can mount a proper offensive. This is only for positioning."

The president scowled. "Positioning?"

"Our knowledge of the situation is limited. Based on reports before we lost communications, we know there are at least two dozen terrorists surrounding the perimeter. We would have to fight our way in first." The advisor looked to the floor. "We also know they are likely AAHW in origin. There are numerous hostages."

Nervous chatter broke out. The president palmed the table, silencing everyone.

"What are you proposing?" the chief of state asked, in a less-than-inquisitive manner.

"Negotiations," the advisor threw the word into the air like a live grenade. "If they're guarding the circumference of the city, it means there's something at the center they don't want us to have."

"You want us to _negotiate_ with them?" the vice president immediately chimed in. "After they killed, what, half the police force?"

"It's exactly _because_ they've probably killed half of the cops that we should focus on negotiating," the advisor suggested. "Initial reports confirmed the terrorists are heavily armed. If we just storm in there, it'll be like Normandy… with civilians on the beaches."

The president ran a hand through his hairline. "What about the public?"

"Nobody outside of us and that city knows what's going on. It's the only upside to not having a signal."

"Let's keep it that way." The president sat back on his leather chair, which let out a tired squeak. "The public won't be too glad to hear that we know almost as much as they do about the situation."

"The advance force we have on the ground will try and gather more intel. In the meantime, all we can do is wait."

In the silence, the advisor took his seat again. The flat screen still glared the map back at them, just as blank as the moment they had displayed it.

"They're doing this shit again," the vice president mumbled. "I would've thought they'd at least give us more than three years."

"No, they're not." The president turned to him. "The Agency's been stripped to the bone. We're just dealing with their dregs, that's all."

"Call them what you want, it doesn't change the situation." The vice president placed his hands in front of himself. "Those Anti-AAHW guys… maybe we should have worked with them in the cleanup. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if we did."

"Stop overreacting." The commander in chief's frown deepened. "We will regain control before anyone finds out. I have full faith in our armed forces. We won't need mercenaries to clean our mess again."

" _Mister President,"_ one of the Watch Team members from the communications division phoned in from the center of the table, _"there's an urgent call for you."_

"And exactly _who_ is important enough to take up our time right now?"

" _The… self-proclaimed organizer of the ongoing terrorist attack, sir."_

Everyone in the room exchanged looks. Mouth agape as he stared at a gray wall, the president replied.

"Put them on the line and trace it."

A small click signalled the order being followed. The next scratchy voice immediately spoke, surrounded by loud, but unintelligible noise.

" _Ah, finally. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister President. All these different phone lines and branches they kept switching me around… I was started to get dissuaded! Does convolution make you feel safe?"_

"Who the hell are you and what do you want?"

" _All business and no personality. I like that. It suits politicians like you,"_ the caller replied. _"You can call me Augustus. As for what I want... well, it's a simple request. Do you happen to be near a television?"_

"We-"

" _Of course you are. It comes with that little political panic room you and your cabinet are hiding in, right? Now, I want you to do me a favor. Turn it on and change it to a news channel. Any one will do!"_

"Are you stupid enough to think we're just going to follow your charades?"

The caller laughed. _"You would be stupid not to. I have plenty of ammo and plenty of hostages to spend them on, Mister President."_

All eyes focused on the president. After slight hesitation, he nodded, leading one of his advisors to press a button on his remote. The screen's map had changed to a random news network discussing some gibberish about international trade.

" _Did you follow my directions?"_

"Yes."

" _Fantastic. Next, I want you to pay close attention to any sudden changes. Do you see me?"_

"What are you yammering on about?"

The screen cut to harsh static. When it refocused, the massive crowd of dozens of terrified people became immediately clear, their bruised skins featured in high definition at the center of the dark floor of the auditorium. The camera panned up to the stage, beyond the blue visors of Agents and Engineers lining the walls with rifles, to the lone man with a cellphone pressed against the side of his face.

And he smiled.

" _Hello there."_

The cabinet stood from their seats, eyes completely fixated on the flatscreen.

"Oh my God," the head of Homeland Security whispered.

"You coward!"

" _Careful, Mister President! You're on national television!"_ Augustus pointed a finger to the camera. _"Ah, ah, ah! I know what you're thinking, but don't touch that dial! Because I guarantee you, it will be a broadcasted bloodbath if you do."_

"Cut that feed," the vice-president growled through gritted teeth. A few of the advisors hurried out of the room wordlessly.

" _Now then! For those of you who are just tuning in, welcome one and all to the Underground Circus!"_ From the television, the mass captor raised his arms. " _Coming to you live from the Tent, somewhere in Nevada! Feeling left out? Then it's your lucky day, because you're just in time to preview one of our special events! Hostage Roulette, free of charge!"_

Augustus pointed at one of the young men standing towards the front. The man glanced around, turning his attention towards every possible direction other than his own. One of the Agents grabbed him by the arm, dragging the hostage towards the stage before tossing him to his knees in front of Augustus. The man looked up, wordless pleas for mercy reflected in his eyes.

"What're you gonna to do to me, man?"

"Shh." Augustus placed a finger onto the man's quivering lips. "This is my time. Not yours."

An Engineer placed a burlap sack over the man's head and the prisoner yelped. Augustus smashed his boot down onto the captive's back, bending his body to the ground.

" _The rules are very simple."_ Augustus drew his revolver and set the business end against the back of the hostage's skull. _"This gun holds exactly one bullet."_ With his other hand, he raised his phone. _"And on the other end of this line is your beloved and most trusted commander in chief, for all to hear. He will be asked a few questions. If he fails, I pull the trigger once. And if he cuts the line… half of the prisoners here die."_

Screams erupted from the civilians. Warning shots erupted from the guards.

" _Heyyy! Who said any of you were allowed to SPEAK?"_ Augustus's voice cracked on the last word. His jaw tightened as his bloodshot gaze swept the horrified, but silent, faces. One young woman in particular took up his focus. _"Young lady. I heard you were making quite a bit of noise. Would you like to come up here and take this man's place, hm? Save his life as a martyr?"_

The woman's lip quivered and tears streamed down her face. She shook her head silently.

" _No more noise. All is in order."_ Augustus whispered to himself as he rubbed at the lower half of his face. After reestablishing what little panache he had exuded in his composure, he looked back at the camera. _"Let's begin."_

Augustus cocked the hammer on his gun. _"Who's got the nuclear football?"_

No response came from the cabinet. Augustus raised his eyebrows, curled his lower lip, and pulled the trigger.

 _Click_.

Empty. The hostage still yelled..

 _"Did I not make myself clear enough? How about the Gold Codes? Does that ring a bell?"_

"I have them," the president said. Then, after a moment of hesitation, "... and so does the vice-president."

The half-dozen pair of eyes remaining in the Situation Room stared at the Commander in Chief in bewilderment.

 _"Good. Well, it would have been, if you didn't make me waste a chamber for publicly available information. So we're off to a great start."_ Augustus's revolver didn't move; he cocked it.. _"Let's amp up the difficulty. Which of the lines on the Gold Codes is the correct line?"_

The vice-president tapped a finger against the table, grabbing the president's attention. He shook his head to the commander in chief, eyes wide.

 _"Hellooo?"_ Augustus stared back at the camera. _"Are you still with us, Mister President?"_

"I am not authorized to tell you anything."

 _"Oh."_ Augustus paused. _"Oh, you're not_ authorized _."_

 _Click._

He pulled the trigger a second time. No bullet, but more lung-shrivelling screams and gasps.

 _"You know what your secretary said? She said, 'please hold!' And then I did. FOR AN HOUR! And now you're going to preach about your_ authorization _? Perhaps the circumstances escape you, but my bullet is_ authorized _to kill this man!"_

"I am _not_ going to endanger my entire country just to play along with your sick games!"

" _How noble and considerate of you!"_ Augustus laughed. _"So you won't answer because my question endangers your people's lives? So be it. Then surely, you can tell me where the Situation Room is located, correct? After all, that would only endanger_ your _life, as well as the lives of anyone else following this 'authority' of yours."_

Again, no response came from the powers that be. Augustus's grin melted.

" _Mister President, you're going to have to try harder than that. You see, I really don't know where the bullet is. What I do know, however, is that there are six chambers in this gun, which means this man has a sixteen-point-sixty six percent chance of not breathing after every time I pulled the trigger. Sixteen-point-seven, if you want to round up. But we also fired two empty chambers already, meaning the odds are now twenty-five percent. Would you care to take on twenty-five?"_

Muffled, barely distinguishable screams of "NO" and "GOD" came from the burlap sack.

"Listen." The president's eyes were fixated on the screen as he shook his head. "Don't do this."

After a brief moment, Augustus pulled the trigger one last time. In front of every television set in the country, the young man's brains were scattered by twenty-five percent.

The feed cut, just after the crowd screamed. An uproar came from the cabinet, but died just as abruptly as the hijacked program. Before the confused reporter could speak, one of the advisors shut off the television and pressed his hands against his face.

" _Do you know what's the saddest part about all this?"_ The call continued to run over the chaos of bullets and yelling in the background. _"When the AAHW took over the first time, all your files were at our disposal, including the ones about the nukes and about your current location. Even if we didn't already have this information, you could have changed it down the line and saved that man. But you couldn't spare a moment of insecurity for a stranger's life, could you?"_

"You sick mother _fucker_ ," the president's voice came just barely into a whisper. "You're a dead man walking, do you hear me? And if you think you can negotiate your way out of this-"

" _Negotiate?"_ Augustus chuckled. _"Don't get ahead of yourself now. 'Negotiate' implies that we both have something the other wants. This isn't a negotiation, Mister President. It's an_ ultimatum. _"_

"You had a better chance with negotiation," the vice president spat. "We will not discuss terms with deranged psychopaths!"

" _It doesn't matter how you see us. You need our hostages more than we do. And now, you know that we still exist."_

A chill ran through each politician's spine. The Homeland Security advisor interjected.

"What is it that you want?"

" _We are collecting data. And it would be greatly appreciated if there would be no rogue variables skewing our results. After we are done, we will vanish just as soon as we appeared. Casualties will be… er, relatively minimal."_ Augustus's voice turned sterner. _"For every_ unauthorized _man that walks into the city, five hostages will be hung from the tallest buildings we can find. So send your best men to challenge us. See what happens."_

"And you think we're just going to roll over and leave those people to die?"

" _You already have, Mister President. The only variable that remains is how many more are you willing to sacrifice."_

Augustus' voice and the carnage was replaced by a dial tone. Again, every member of the cabinet looked to each other for some miraculous answer. Again, their anxieties worsened when they realized the others were doing the exact same thing.

"What now?" The vice president finally pierced the silence.

The commander in chief looked down at the table as he sunk into his chair. The light that shone over them seemed even dimmer than before.

* * *

(Original) A/N: Chapter 25 is done. Did you enjoy it? God I hope so, but I still think Chapter 24 kicks more ass than this one. I'm doing my best here, and there are just so many ideas floating around in my head. This will be a long fight, I'd say about 6 chapters' worth. So if you notice things getting longer and longer here, don't say I didn't warn you.

Anyways, Reviewer's Credit:

* * *

Xenophobic, thanks for your comments. I appreciate them greatly and I hope you will continue to enjoy this story. The information you gave me before had helped me out with the development of Chapter 24. So, thanks dude!

* * *

InvaderAsh, I'm glad you enjoyed Chapter 24's surprises. As I said before, there are a lot of shockers coming in soon, so keep checking it out. There weren't many in this chapter in particular, but it's just beginning.

* * *

Sackrum, I'm also happy that you liked this plot development so far. You made some good points that I was trying to convey, and I have read the stories you have sent me. You have talent my good friend, and I hope you decide to upload them. Sackrum is my schoolmate, so when I crossed paths with him at this site, I realized that we could begin a great bond together.

* * *

By the way, you guys are nuts. Like, crazy nuts. On Thursday, I just had 86 views and 18 visitors to this story (like seriously? WTF?). Do I appreciate it? Fuck yeah I do! We're at the 700's mark now, so that is extremely encouraging to me. Please, continue to show your appreciation and in return, I will not forget to mention you in my story.

Read and review you guys. I've made some edits to particular chapters after they were uploaded to get rid of grammar and spelling errors as well as awkwardly worded sentences. So you'll notice most major errors that are distracting to the reader have been eliminated and edited.

I will be working on Chapter 26 A.S.A.P. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Final Salvation.

~Spirit9871

* * *

(New) A/N: Christ, this was a rough chapter to get out. There was a ton of stuff I added onto the plot while I was rewriting this (though the base material is still the same), but I'm really proud of the result and I hope it shows! I'm also grateful to see that this was the _least_ embarrassing original Reviewers' Credits I've read thus far (or should I say, "Reviewer's Credit"). Man, I really need to get a grip on all these names I've got set up…

Let's start talking about those changes now:

* * *

 _ **Changelog :**_

1 - Chapter title changed from: "Blackmail and the Reality of War" to "Blackmail." I… honestly don't even know what to say about the original title, my God.

2 - More Harley and the boys in blue! The original absolutely failed in giving them the well-deserved screen time for their heroics! This was another big change I'm happy about (but took a while to finally flesh out).

3 - Black Snake boys (Aidan, Adriel, and Ivo) are in! For those of you who read Hank's Legacy, I'm sure their appearance comes off as a pleasant surprise; got quite a bit planned out for them later down the road. ;)

4 - Major pacing changes. You may have noticed some details here that wouldn't have (or rather, shouldn't have) shown up until the next chapter. This is because I feel like the original's pacing didn't really make a lot of sense at this part and the original didn't have enough content to consider itself a meaty "chapter." Rest assured, the events are still very much the same!

5 - Speaking of which, the phone call between Augustus and the president. While I omitted all the names of the politicians (because honestly, who's gonna give a shit about the names of a bunch of old dudes in suits with no bigger role in the story), I've added a lot more to put at stake with the entire Underground Circus clusterfuck. Hope the tension really shows here; this was the second longest part of this chapter I spent time on!

6 - Grammatical errors removed.

7 - Narration and dialogue improved.

8 - Diction enhanced.

9 - The _universe is a better place._

* * *

Done. Now a little update on my personal end:

Summer break is here! Granted I might be preoccupied with personal stuff, but this is definitely the freest I'll be in a while, for a while! I managed to score an internship with a pretty awesome private school as an assistant tutor, so I'm really happy about that! Oh, and with Ramadan finally over, it's great to finally put food and water in my stomach at any time of the day. Helps me really focus when I write, as you would imagine.

We've got a lot of big things planned this season! With the end of Final Salvation coming into sight, Hank's Legacy Season IV is undergoing planning. Plus, after many, MANY years of hiatus, there _may_ be plans of continuing the Hank's Legacy manga. ;)

But, only time will tell! If you guys want to ask me questions about things, you can now do so anonymously at the Curiouscat link I have set up on my profile! Ask me whatever you like; I'm practically an open book for anyone curious enough to take up the opportunity! I've already answered a few awesome questions there in-depth, so fire away!

Thank you all so much for reading, as well as for all your love and support! It still means the world to me and I'm sure the same can be said for the rest of my team helping me with this project every step of the way. Seriously, this still wouldn't be going without those of you taking the time to vocalize your following!

We hope you enjoyed this rewritten chapter of Final Salvation! Thanks again, and here's to a summer of fresh Madness content! Stay frosty ya'll!

~ Spirit


	26. Exacerbation

Chapter 26: Exacerbation

* * *

Cathy's head reeled back into consciousness. The cold roused her, but it was a stark contrast to the warm puddle her hand was in. In the darkness, she could only discern the stone brick walls and the iron bars boxing her in. Her nausea didn't subside even when she sat up and rubbed her hand against her pants.

She racked her throbbing brain. She remembered heading home late at night; her supervisor had wanted her to publish another last-minute article of another gang-related shootout, so she'd been working far past closing time.

Upon retrospect, perhaps it wasn't the best idea to walk unaccompanied through a less-than-reputable part of town late at night.

A door swooshed open some distance away, illuminating the hallway. Footsteps echoed as a larger shadow approached the cell. Before the door shut, Cathy caught a glimpse of her captor: a suited, stern-faced man. His royal blue shades glowed among the domineering darkness.

The man pressed a code into the keypad beside her cell door. It opened with a beep and a drawn-out creak.

"Get out," he ordered.

Cathy stood. "Where am I?"

He knocked his baton against the prison grille. Cathy could make out the unmistakable crackle of electricity, the brilliant blue flash of a spark jumping from the baton to the iron bars. The sight and sound sent Cathy two steps back.

" _Out_."

She didn't hesitate this time. The guard's baton prodded against her back as she stepped out.

" _Walk_."

They marched down the long stretch of dungeon. As they walked, they passed more chambers like her own, but it was too dark to see what was inside each one. The exit door rose, allowing light to pour in once more and reveal the contents of the cell beside her.

A body hung off the far wall stained with crimson, its hands bound by chains. Wounds riddled its emaciated frame, exposing bone through the mutilated flesh. The blood looked fresh.

Cathy's chest tightened. Her mind drowned all sounds, including the man barking orders behind her. A solid shove sent her across the threshold, flooding her in light. After her sight returned, she reinspected the hand she had dried earlier.

Crimson.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it, Catherine?"

The voice's familiarity pulled her from the trance. A familiar face and figure stood, surrounded by an entourage of hulking soldiers under the bright white light.

Tears blurred Cathy's vision. "Danny?"

She took a step forward. A dozen blue glasses and visors turned in unison. A dozen guns pointed at Cathy's head. The man in the center raised a hand.

"At ease. She's not going to hurt us."

The weapons lowered in response.

"Danny! You're… _alive_!" She shook her head with an exhale. "Mom and I looked everywhere for you after the war was over, but-"

"I'm truly sorry, Catherine." Daniel smiled back. "A lot has been happening. Our success is still out of reach, but that's why you're here. I need your help."

"My help? You..." Her expression began to fade. "Mom needed you, Danny. She still needs you. Ever since Dad, she hasn't been the same."

"I understand that, Catherine. But as I said, I need your help to achieve this."

She looked around, processing his achievements. Two rows of armed men stared back, their faces hidden behind tinted plexiglass. White fluorescent lights illuminated the room. In the background, the clanks and whirs of interconnected machinery blended into a discordant melody. Bundles of wire weaved among the towering processors, coalescing into a single, massive tube.

It was a far cry from the blood, stone, and cruelty.

Her smile dropped. "Daniel, there was a man in one of the cells."

His smile followed suit. "It was a problem."

Daniel advanced towards Cathy, his footsteps clacking with each measured step. One of his hands raised her chin, while the other drew a handkerchief.

"There were many people ready to hunt _our_ family down if I came back as soon as I could." Daniel kept his eyes locked with Cathy's as he wiped her hand of the blood. "There are hunters still, and they won't stop if we don't follow through."

Cathy stared at him, immobilized. "What do you want _me_ to do?"

"The terrorists still roam among us. The very same people who were responsible for our father's death. The government granted them pardons, despite the violent crimes they committed." Daniel pocketed the bloody cloth. "I will rectify these atrocities, but individuals like Hank Wimbleton are an issue."

"But what do you want _me_ to do?"

"I want you to track them," he said, unwavering intensity in his gaze. "Get as close as you can and ensure they are ignorant of my intentions. My men and I will help you with every step."

Cathy looked at her spotless hand. Memories of the past, warm but dry, came back to her. "If I do this," she whispered, "will you come home?"

Daniel smiled again. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Cathy couldn't return his smile. Fatigue slurred her words.

"Okay… but what if I don't go through with this?"

"Don't worry about that. Even if you fail, I will take your attempt into consideration," he replied, chipper again. "I just want you to try, that's all."

"No, I meant…" She mustered every bit of courage she could to look her brother in the eyes. "What if I don't go all the way through? Like, halfway through, I change my mind?"

His smile faded. Daniel reaffirmed the distance between them, past the armed men, under the white lights, and at the center of all the clanks and whirs. Cathy felt the faceless guards glaring her into place.

"Then _we_ will have a problem."

A tight grip wrapped around her mouth, digging its nails into her cheeks. Cathy remembered the sensation of a wet rag forced against her nostrils. Blue shades leered over her shoulder.

They, and everything else, turned hazy again.

* * *

"That's all I remember," Cathy finished. "I woke up the next day, groggier than usual. But I knew what I- no, what he needed done."

Sanford and Deimos kept quiet. Hank weakened the grip on his pistol as he knelt before her.

"Where is he?" His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"I don't know."

Hank's jaw tightened.

"I _don't_ know, I swear!" Cathy pleaded.

Hank rose. "Then I'll find him myself."

"Don't hurt him." Cathy wrung her hands, with tears starting to run down her face. "Please."

Hank tossed her phone in front of her. At the same moment, the phone she gifted him clattered onto the floor. He pulverized it with his boot, grinding it into the tile.

"I'll tear him apart. Even if you have to bury what's left."

Cathy bowed her head.

Sanford laid a hand on Hank's shoulder. "Let's get moving."

They exited the room. Deimos flicked the butt of his cigarette towards the sobbing woman before slamming the door behind them.

"Hank," Sanford began, searching for comforting words that didn't exist. "I'm sorry."

"It's my fault." Hank's voice brooked no uncertainty.

"Hey, that's not true-" Deimos started.

"Every time she asked about how I felt, it was to make sure I was under _his_ thumb." Hank's hands balled into fists as he stared at the ground. "I should have known… shouldn't have doubted myself."

Deimos's pocket vibrated. He pulled out a familiar metal block.

Sanford narrowed his eyes. "You still have that thing?"

"I have to carry my P.I.S.S. around everywhere I go." Deimos's grin faded as his joke died on arrival. "But, something's off. It shouldn't be pinging us, unless…"

Hank turned to him. "Unless what?"

An uncharacteristic seriousness etched itself onto Deimos's face.

"The Improbability Drives are back."

"What?!" Sanford's eyes widened. "We destroyed all of them three years ago!"

"Well somebody's put the pieces back together." Deimos pressed a few buttons on his device. "And now we've got three Humpty Dumpties to push off the wall."

"Oh God." Sanford's face went pale as he stared at the wall in front of him. "They keep the Drives up, we'll have another War."

"Don't lose your shit." Hank said, before turning to Deimos. "Deimos, you better be sure that thing actually works."

"This _thing_ was made for the Antithesis battle network. You could throw it from space and it would still work after you dug it out the crater." As if on cue, the P.I.S.S. vibrated again. "Speaking of which..."

Deimos shared his screen. From HQ, the Senior Field Operatives delivered their orders.

* * *

 _\- Destroy all Improbability Drives_

 _\- Eliminate all AAHW hostiles_

 _\- Secure hostages_

* * *

"Oh. They have hostages now." Deimos sighed. "I guess that means the government's hands are tied. No military support for us."

"And without military support, it's only a matter of time before Harley and his officers surrender or get wiped out," Sanford said. "I wouldn't blame them. It's not like they'd know where the Drives are."

"No, but _we_ do." Deimos tapped at the screen. "The Scrambler gave us the direct coords to the Drives during the War. Unless this one's retarded, I'm pretty sure it'll do the same."

"Give me one set of coordinates." Hank straightened himself. "You two get the civvies. I'm going for Dan."

"Wait, wait, wait." Sanford raised his hands. "We don't even know where any of the hostages are, or Dan himself for that matter."

"Knowing that pompous prick, he probably wouldn't want to waste his time with 'mortals.' My best guess, he'd place them near where he's hiding one of his Drives, while he's by the other," Hank said. "I'll tell you guys if I find the hostages. And if you find Dan, we switch places."

Deimos scrunched his face. "What, we can't come along?"

" _No_ ," Hank said.

"Hank," Sanford began. "I know you're upset, but-"

"I'm not _upset_ , Sanford." Hank interrupted with just as much force as his last reply. "If you gave yourself a second to actually think, you'd realize that Daniel is rushing things a hundred times faster than the Auditor did. His entire operation is hanging by a thread, and those hostages are that thread. If you two save those hostages, he has no leverage. And if I get to him at the same time, I guarantee you, he won't have a chance to replace that leverage."

"Yeah, but uh…" Deimos scratched the back of his head. "Didn't you get your ass handed to him earlier?"

"He hit me by surprise. It won't happen again."

Sanford and Deimos traded uncertain looks. Hank stepped between them.

"We will make this work." His goggles gleamed red. "The coordinates, Deimos. _Today_."

* * *

"Destroy all Improbability Drives. Eliminate all AAHW hostiles. And rescue hostages." Adriel lowered his Scrambler. "We've got our work ahead of us."

"We're already on step one." Aidan turned to Harley. "How far's the station from here?"

"A few blocks," Harley said. "If we take the short way around."

Adriel nodded. "Then it's more than a few blocks. Got it."

In truth, Harley knew where the longer road passed through too well. It was a shopping district; the same one he had taken Melissa to many times when people seemed less keen on killing and dying. All that was left of the place now was broken glass and fading memories.

Harley pulled his gaze from the window. The short way around would have been a lot easier.

"This is it, right?"

Ivo's question led the chief to look at the road ahead. Squad cars formed a makeshift bunker surrounding the station. People and their weapons peered out through the spaces in between, and then pulled away.

They stepped out of the car, with Aidan, Adriel, and Ivo immediately heading for the station. Harley nearly tripped over something when he exited. Looking down, he saw the "something" was the body of a ragged man in his thirties, a Scrambler still in his hands.

The scene and all of its despair unfurled. Corpses of AAHW, Antithesis, and officers alike laid sprawled on the ground, contorted by their fatal wounds. Pools of red and yellow dyed the asphalt.

"Chief?"

Harley looked up. "Dempsey."

There was a familiar tiredness in his officer's face. "I'd ask what took you so long, but you've been shot too. Where's Clyde?"

Harley stared at him, deadpan. Dempsey looked at the ground for a few seconds before speaking again, straining to maintain composure.

"Do you even know what they hit you with?"

"Just take me to where my boys are, Dempsey."

Dempsey led the way in silence. Numerous faces met Harley's beyond the barricade of cars. The police chief did a headcount of each officer he could recognize.

Harley's heart sank. "That's it?"

"Yeah," Dempsey spoke without meeting his superior's eyes. "We're all that's left."

"There's enough officers here to count on two hands."

"We fought a wave of those bastards before you showed up. If it hadn't been for these Anti-AAHW folks coming along, there wouldn't be anyone to count," the officer said. "I bet you my badge those bastards are preparing for round two, though. They know we're on the ropes. They're bound to hit harder this time around."

"Then we'll be ready for them." Harley stepped towards Aidan, who stood with a small group of Antithesis operatives debating among themselves. "Let's set up a hardpoint here. You guys hold the front line and my boys will hold the second."

The Operatives traded glances with each other, mostly in disbelief. One of the masked men cocked his head.

"Is this guy fucking serious?" His accent placed him in Europe, and the tone of his query spoke volumes about contempt.

"No, he isn't." Aidan's reply came out in a growl. He grabbed Harley's good arm. "Give me a sec with him."

Aidan yanked the chief away. "Hey. Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

"What are you talking about? I know this block like the back of my hand."

"I'm talking about you trying to call the shots. We have three guys for every cop you have. Do the goddamn math."

"Well, you said it yourself. There's more of you guys and you're better suited for this sort of thing-"

"Listen to me _very_ carefully, you entitled _prick_." Aidan closed the distance between their faces by centimeters, to centimeters. "We got our own chain of command, so I don't give a shit about your rank, and believe me, neither do the guys back there. We're _not_ maids here to wipe your asshole clean when you shit bricks. We are here on orders, but if my group decide that you and your goals aren't a high priority, then nobody can stop them from fighting someplace else, do you understand me?"

Harley didn't blink. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because our bosses want your respect. Until they decide you're not worth the blood." Aidan returned the gesture. "So trying to use us like cannon fodder isn't going to work in your favor, _pal_."

The two men entered a glaring contest, with every survivor holding the line as their audience. Harley felt Dempsey's hand on his shoulder.

"Chief, it's fine."

Harley shrugged Dempsey off, his eye contact with Aidan unwavering. He finally turned around.

"Boys, I want to make something crystal. You are _not_ entitled to listen to what anyone other than myself has to say. In fact, what happens next is entirely your choice. You can decide to hold this position from wherever you want, front line or back. Or… not at all. You're all tired and I perfectly understand that. None of this was part of the job description." Harley raised his only arm to his chest. "I'm holding the front."

Harley's crowd was silent. He turned back to Dempsey.

"What about the civilians?"

Dempsey led the way once more, into the heart of their defensive line. The bullet-ridden glass of the station's front door disintegrated when he pulled it open. Harley stepped in, taken aback as soon as he raised his gaze. The lobby and everything beyond it was filled to the brim with people.

At the front of the crowd, a young woman took a step forward. "What's going to happen to us?"

Harley felt their eyes on his wounds. "You will be safe."

"Safe?" Another male civilian in the back spoke up. "You guys looked like you were fighting for your lives the last time around! You expect us to think that everything is going to be fine?"

Harley felt a vein pop from the side of his head. "No. No, I don't. They will be back and more people will die. But I guarantee you that the first ones to go down will be us, not you. I'm sorry I can't give you some peace of mind, but if you have any better suggestions, I'm all ears."

The man backed down, more frightened than he was when asking his question. Harley lowered his head, turning away from their uneasy and judgmental gazes. In front of the station, the lines of men checked their weapons, reconsidered their positions, and prayed to their gods.

Now, there were enough cops to count with only one hand, steeling themselves just as he did now.

* * *

Hank pressed the slide of his Beretta against his head, closing his eyes. Catherine and Daniel's voices deafened the surrounding gunfire, mixing into a cocktail of distractions.

He shook his head and silenced them both. Two Agents made rounds around the disbanded AAHW stronghold, rifles swaying in their hands as they made their rounds around the complex. The guards patrolling neighboring rooftops and scanning the perimeter below were armed the same. Rays of twilight settled through the alleyway Hank concealed himself in.

The silhouettes of nearby establishments presented a dark path towards the complex. Hank moved with the shadows, sidling just beneath the buildings behind him. His eyes switched back and forth between the rooftops across the road and the guards in front of the structure.

He hid about fifteen meters away from the entrance, waiting for the Agents to turn their backs from each other. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, he moved for the nearest Agent, who had his back turned.

The guard barely had a second to realize Hank's presence before he wrapped the man's neck in his arms and twisted his life away in one violent motion.

The second guard paced one lazy step every three lazy seconds; multiple counts in Hank's head confirmed that much. It would take the Agent a minute to realize his partner had gone missing, maybe more. Ten to fifteen seconds before procedure overrode panic and he called for backup. Hank slipped through the entrance before the second guard could return to his post; there was no time to waste.

The first stretch of hallway was devoid of any movement. Torn, faded pieces of posters remained pasted on the walls, reminding the soldiers to fight and die for their cause. Discarded bottles of alcohol had toppled over and spilled over a nearby table. Across, the automated door opened and two Agents walked out, chatting to each other. In two short bursts to their heads, they were chatting no more.

Hank pushed into the next hallway. He smashed his rifle butt into the head of an Agent, who was predictably waiting in ambush by the door. Hank pressed the FAMAS' stock against his shoulder and fired into the first of two Engineers in front of him. The second would have met the same fate, had Hank's weapon not run dry with an audible _click._

By the time the other Engineer raised his own weapon, Hank had let his rifle drop to the floor and instead noosed the neck of the stunned Agent with his arm. He drew an M1911 from inside the suit's jacket pocket and fired twice into the Engineer's head. Recoil shook both him and his hostage.

From the corner, the last Engineer poked his submachine gun above a collection of boxes and opened jammed down on the trigger. The blind-fired bullets found the Agent's center of mass just as Hank's control shot found the Engineer's hand. Hank let his hostage crumple to the ground as he fired at the Engineer's head sticking out from the side of cover.

Hank watched the Agent writhe on the ground briefly before executing him with a bullet to the brain. In the newfound silence, he kicked the empty FAMAS against the wall.

"Careless."

He called for the elevator to his right. A horsefly buzzed past him and into the lift, its doors wide open like the lips of a starved maw.

* * *

"It dings, we fire."

The order came from one of the Engineers, posted at the floor just below the earlier gunfire. Of the four men in front of the elevator doors, one of the Agents turned to him.

"What if there's a friendly inside?"

The Engineer's focus remained resilient. "We fire."

All four guns from the Agents and Engineers trained back at the doors. In its slow descent down the shaft, the elevator's chains creaked before clicking into place at the lower level.

 _Ding._

The doors didn't even open halfway before the hellstorm of bullets scrambled the aged steel. Dozens of rounds shredded the elevator's insides, chipping bits of debris with each blinding flash of gunfire. Ten seconds later, only bullet casings clinking against the ground complemented ringing ears.

The four lowered their weapons. The Engineer bumped the stock of his rifle against the Agent's shoulder, gesturing toward the doors with the muzzle. The Agent steeled himself before he stumbled out of cover and into the broken elevator. Bullet holes riddled the back wall, but not a single speck of blood painted any of the four white walls.

The fly buzzed past the Agent's head, making him tense up. A nervous laugh escaped his throat as he lowered his weapon and turned back to his allies.

"He's not here."

 _Clink_.

A small cylinder fell to the Agent's feet. He looked to the ceiling, his blue shades meeting crimson goggles glaring down at him from the elevator shaft. The muzzle of a pistol separated their faces.

Hank fired as the flashbang popped. Agonizing screams of his enemies reassured him as he dropped to the floor of the elevator, his boots squashing the remains of the Agent's skull. He made easy work of the three hostiles in front of the elevator, their senses numbed until his M1911 splattered their brains against the back wall.

Hank dropped the empty pistol and crouched to pry the MP5 from the dead Agent's hands. As another Agent ran towards the elevator, Hank fired at his midsection, sending him tumbling to the ground in a bloodied mess.

Yelling echoed against the empty jail cells on each side of the hallway. Hank rolled out of the elevator, stopping behind the stacks of crates. Before they could pin him, he peered off the side of the stack, sending a barrage of bullets into the abdomens of two more Agents.

Suppressive rifle fire forced Hank behind cover. While rounds hammered against his crate, he swapped his SMG for the Desert Eagle the dead Engineer behind him holstered. With the M1911 in one hand and the Deagle in the other, he jumped on top of the box, firing both pistols twice into the rifle-wielding Engineer at the end of the hall. Hank frontflipped as the last Engineer fired his Mossberg. Landing on his feet, he threw his M1911 at the Engineer's skull, stunning him long enough to shoot two final Deagle shots into his body.

The door to the next room opened just before Hank could clear the distance. Hank grabbed the dropped shotgun, smashing its rear against the rushing Agent's nose. The Agent reflexively clutched at his face while Hank cocked the shotgun. At point-blank range, the Agent's head burst open like a flower in full bloom.

Blood hazed through the entrance to the next room in a crimson smokescreen. Hank emerged from it, shoving the Agent's corpse aside as he blasted into two more surprised Engineers' chests in quick, pump-action succession.

"Execute the program!" One of the last two Engineers by the violently blinking control panels at the back of the room shouted.

The other had no moment to reply as his companion's innards were splattered onto the whirring steel. He smashed his fist against the keyboard in front of him just before he too was shot against the computers.

Hank walked up to his final victim, watching him gasp for air. He cocked his shotgun once more, pressing his boot against the Engineer's chest and pinning him to the ground.

"Your boss." Hank shoved the muzzle towards the Engineer's forehead. "Tell me where he is."

With a weak cough, the Engineer started wheezing laughs. He applied force against the front of the shotgun with his skull.

"Fuck you," the Engineer whispered.

There was no hesitation when Hank pulled the trigger. After tossing his empty weapon aside, the blaring red screens coated in yellow blood stole his attention. Supercomputers madly hummed from every wall, with the words: "WARNING - KEYSTONE FRAGMENT COMPROMISED," flashing above rapidly ascending walls of code. All of them connected to a large tube unsettlingly familiar to Hank at the center. It was large enough to fit a person, but the fumes from inside made it impossible to see what was being contained.

"Where's that damn Drive…?"

A loud _clunk_ preceded all the screens cutting to black. Silence and solitude replaced the whirring, shortly before all the monitors displayed one last line:

" **CLOWN** **HAS BEEN EXECUTED."**

Hank's mind didn't register the words… or rather, it refused to. The tube's glass began to fissure. Steam seeped from the cracks, growing higher and higher in pitch, until-

 _BOOM!_

He was blown a couple of feet backwards from the explosion. Shards of glass scattered onto the ground as an unnatural mist hung in the air. Electricity sparked from the burned mechanisms sustaining the tube. From the unknown, two crimson orbs stared back into his eyes. Beneath them, a familiar image made Hank's blood run cold for the first time in three years.

The grin of the damned jester.

" _ **HAAAAAAAAAAANK!"**_

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(Old) A/N: *Whistles*. Whoa. That's A LOT to take in for one guy! So, the secret's out isn't it? Surprised? Or did you see this coming? If you didn't, then I hope this shocker really caught your attention.

I'm sorry for not updating, but I just took 4 exams the past week. Yes, 4; Math (Geometry), Science (Physics), Spanish, and Global History. I think I personally did well in Math and History, but I'm fucked in the ass for Physics and Spanish. I never was good with those two topics…

Well, that's enough. Let's get right to Reviewer's Credit:

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A Heartless Flamer: Thanks dude! I appreciate the fact that you helped point out some flaws in my story upon request. No, he's not a douchebag. I asked him personally to fix my errors, so I am eternally grateful for that.

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Xenophobic: I LOL'ed at your comment. Even though I would pay cash to see 3 men beat the tar out of a backstabbing woman, Cathy still serves a purpose XD. Also, I will always mention you in my chapters as long as you review dude, so think of it as some kind of first-class treatment to all my reviewers.

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Nikolai247: (Who used to be known as InvaderAsh until he changed his name): Thank you for giving me such a touching review. Like I said to you personally before, as the first reviewer, and still one of the latest, you have helped in this story's development. I owe you bro.

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Kagami: Thanks again for reviewing! I'm glad you liked some humor I sprinkled in Chapter 24! Also, if you really want to read some famous creepypasta, here are some that are well-recognized:

Real-Life CreepyPastas:

"The Smiling Girl"- 4 boys go on a camping trip to the forest, only to find their world flipped upside-down by the smiling girl in the cabin.

"Smiley Town"- (Yeah, a lot of smiling)- When a young man goes on a forum and talks about a PC game he never finished when he was younger, due to difficulties completing a level, he later discovers that there is more to the game than meets the eye. Things that were never meant to be discovered.

Video-Game CreepyPastas:

"BEN DROWNED"- A college-student that goes by the online name "Jadaseus" (I think that's how you spell it), buys a copy of the cartridge called: "The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask", only to find it haunted by a ghost named BEN, who takes the form of the creepy-looking Elergy Statue. As he plays the game, he records all his findings on a diary and talks about his life being possessed by BEN. Also, he tapes the game on a video-card and uploads his gameplays onto YouTube (which are still viewable).

"Lavender Town Syndrome Stories"- Remember that creepy place in Pokémon FireRed with the really creepy music at a place called "Lavender Town" for the GBA? Well, imagine that the music has effects on the human mind: SUICIDAL effects. There are many more stories to this one including the "Lavender Town Missing Frequencies" (where you should listen to the video's soundtrack as you read), "Buried Alive", "The White Hand", and "GHOST". Not really that traumatic to teens though, but definitely would have a long-lasting effect to most young children.

"Sonic. EXE "- A boy named Tom finds a note in his mail from a friend that had gone missing 2 weeks ago with a strange, picture-less CD-ROM titled "SONIC. EXE" crudely with permanent marker. On the note, his friend warns him about the game, telling him to destroy it as soon as he can, but being the Sonic The Hedgehog fanatic he is, Tom does not follow the warning and plays the CD. What he finds makes him wish that he had listened.

And finally, TV Show CreepyPastas:

"Squidward's Suicide"- An intern at Nickelodeon Studios watches SpongeBob SquarePants preview episodes for testing. After a couple of humorous clips, the group of people critiquing the episodes finds one clip in particular, odd. (By the way, don't watch the "Red Mist" Video if you're not able to handle horror. Basically, it sends you to this site where you're forced to watch a jump-scare film of dead, mutilated bodies, and other horrific images. You can't get out of the window, and not even control-alt-delete works either.)

"Suicidal Mouse"- (A lot of suicide? Yep. That's Creepypasta for ya.)- Disney is supposed to be the innocent, animating studio, for children, with its number one mascot: Mickey Mouse, right? Well, this Creepypasta says otherwise.

Hope you enjoy them bro!

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Guest: ...Um...thanks, I guess?

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Okay, Credits over. I hope you enjoyed this chapter you guys, and I'll try to put up Chapter 27. Thank you all for reading, and the view count is really, really, uplifting. Read and Review, and if you do review, I promise to talk to you personally (only if you're using an account, since I obviously can't PM guests) or at least mention your name in the next chapter's A/N (Author's Note).

Later!

~Spirit9871

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(New) A/N: I don't even know what the hell to say. Like… it's really amazing how I used the original Author's Note for this chapter as a billboard for creepypastas at the end. I don't even remember half of them anymore.

I will say though, it's kinda sad reading the names of my old reviewers, considering like, most of them aren't even on board with any of my stories anymore. Miss you all; thank you for everything back then.

Regarding the chapter, have to give a huge special thanks to Bravo (not sure if I mentioned him before here, but he basically helped write the first half of the chapter with me this time around). Him, Alias, Sacrom, and ieatdragonz have really helped push the narrative forward when I was stuck in a lot of Writer's Blocks. Hopefully you guys enjoyed the new changes; there's been a lot more consideration put into the imagery of the chapter, as that was a common criticism I've noticed from certain readers and myself (and very much from my editors).

Let's get to the Changelog:

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 _ **Changelog**_ _ **:**_

1 - Chapter title changed from: "Saving the Woman Who Backstabbed You" to "Exacerbation" Literally, the original title was a fucking spoiler and I'm an idiot for using it even back then.

2 - Cathy's flashback's been beefed up. The original is just… dumb. In a "way too short without any interesting interaction" sense. Same applies with Hank, Sanford, and Deimos as they're planning their next move.

3 - So much more development with Harley. Now we got Antithesis backing them up, and you really get to see how they're gonna hold this critical position.

4 - More Black Snake boys too. Aidan's putting his foot down when he needs to.

5 - Speaking of which, the "Scramblers." Basically, they're the devices used during the canon animation for those of you who aren't aware. They've been beefed up too as a critical plot point (especially in explaining how Hank, Sanford, and Deimos are able to find all these critical areas).

6 - Hank's siege of one of the Drives. While Tricky is still a factor, Daniel doesn't just yeet off after doing nothing before Tricky is summoned. A lot more detail was put into that raid as well.

7 - Spelling and grammatical errors removed.

8 - Narration and dialogue improved.

9 - Diction enhanced.

10 - The _universe is a better place._

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Changelog done. Thank you all so much for waiting; these next couple of chapters are gonna be really tedious to get over, but I'm really glad that I'm finally tackling them. School is around the corner and I have my GRE's (graduate school exams) to worry about. Plus, I've taken up some more positive lifestyle habits too. But beyond that, you know I'll always still be at it. ;)

Don't really have much to say and I'm a bit short on time here, so I'mma just wrap it up. Have a great rest of the summer and to those of you who are asking interesting questions on CuriousCat, thank you! It's always a pleasure talking to you guys! :D

We hope you guys enjoyed this rewritten chapter! Peace!

~Spirit


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